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:OSALIE SUTHERLAND 



TUB FLOWER OF THE DESERT. 



A PLAY IN SIX ACTS. 



BY ALBERT BREWSTER 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 



•o«:~;«o- 



A. L. BANCROFT & COIVII'-A.ISrY, I:*rintere. 

1873. 



ROSALIE SUTHERLAND: 



THE FLOWER OF THE DESERT. 



A PLAY IN SIX ACTS. 



BY ALBERT BREWSTER 



ii\ 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 



►o-:~>©' ' "^ >. Ti 



iikSji^,''' 



A. L. BAlSrCROKO? Sc COM:FA.lsrY, frirtters. 

1873. 



T'bt^'' 






.^^^^^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, 

By albert BREWSTER, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



^„p92-008697 



PREFACE, 



I am well aware, that in writing this play I have departed from 
the common routine of play writers ; the general practice being 
to present simply words of the actors and to give little space to 
description and direction ; but as this play is of the order of 
spectacular drama, depending greatly upon its dramatic features, 
and scenic effect, I have thought best to depart from the usual 
custom. I think the amount of description and direction while 
adding to the interest for general readers will detract nothing 
from it for stage managers, as there will be no trouble in sepa- 
rating the descriptive and directive portion, from the acted parts. 



STl^OPSIS OF PLOT 



Me. Suthekland, an American gentleman of large fortune, 
with his family, consisting of his wife, son and danghter, in the 
year 1869, started on a tour through Eastern lands, having in the 
course of their journey arrived at the city of Constantinople, Mr. 
Sutherland purchased an Oriental boat, or sailing vessel, which 
having had refitted and furnished in accordance with his taste, 
so as to transform the boat into a luxuriant yacht, and jvrocured 
for crew and attendants some eight or ten Turks and Arabs, 
sailed from that city on a coasting voyage to Bombay, Hindostan. 
and thence to coast around to Calcutta, intending to land at such 
places as might interest them, or go ashore when inclination 
prompted. Having passed through the Suez Canal into the Eed 
Sea, they had arrived half-way between Mecca and Mocha, when 
there being a calm and the heat oppressive, they landed on the 
Arabian shore, and encamped in a grove of palms. While en- 
joying the grateful shade, they were suddenly attacked by a band 
of mounted Bedouin robbers ; the son was slain, the father and 
mother left for dead, and the daughter, whose beauty had at- 
tracted the attention of the chieftain, Al Hassan, called the "Vul- 
ture of the Desert," was carried away captive to an oasis in the 
desert of Akhaf. After the departure of the Bedouin robbers, 
Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland revived. The unhappy father perceiving 
that pursuit under the circumstances was impossible, and con- 
sidering the miserable condition of his wife, suffering from severe 
wounds, and still more from distraction and despair at the thought 
of her loved daughter's unhappy fate, ct)ncluded to return imme- 
diately to their home in Baltimore city. After his arrival at 
home, he despatched several agents in search of his lost daugh- 
ter,. Rosalie — they were all unsuccessful. Hearing of their fail- 
ure, a young man, only eighteen years of age, and childhood's 
playmate of Rosalie, and also her boyish lover and a great favor- 
ite of her parents, prompted by a conviction that she was still 
alive (two years having elapsed since she was taken captive), 
started in search of her. He finds her on an oasis far in the 
interior of the desert of Akhaf, Arabia, where she had been car- 
ried b}^ the Bedouin chieftain, he rescues her and brings her 
home to her i^arents. 

In reading the play, critics might at first view consider the 
horses on which are mounted the Bedouin robbers an objection, 
thinking they would occupy too much sj^ace on the stage proper, 
but the horses make their appearance at the back of the stage 
only ; for further information on this point, see note at end of 
play. 



ROSALIE SUTHERLANr) 

THE FLOWER OF THE DESERT. 



A PLAY IN SIX ACTS. 



ACT FIRST ; Scekj: : — ^An encampment on the shores of the Red Sea, the 
coast of Arabia. A grove of Palm or Date trees ; a number of Oriental tents. 
Back Scene will represent the sea with an Oriental boat moored to the shore. 
Locality half way between Mecca and Mocha. 

Present, Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland, a son twelve, and daughter fourteen years 
of age ; a number of Oriental servants— some eight or ten — consisting of 
Turks and Arabs ; some of them are preparing the mid-day meal, others are 
reposing beneath the shadows of the tents, which are of Oriental make. The 
canvass not reaching within several feet of the ground, being intended for 
shade only ; others lying beneath the shade of trees, or strolling idly around, 
a group of them are singing a wild Arabian song as the curtain rises. Mr. 
Sutherland and family habited in European costume ; the daughter with 
long hair flowing loosely upon her shoulders, they occupying the fore- 
ground. The tents occupy space between side scenes, projecting from, but 
not so much as to interfere with performance. Number of tents optional — 
two or three, or more. Mr. Sutherland a fine appearing gentleman of forty 
years of age ; his wife a lovely woman five years yoiinger. 

Mrs. Sutherland (addressing her husband) : Dear Arthur, how 
long are we to encamp in this place? 

Mr. Sutherland. Several hours, dear wife ; the heat is now 
oppressive; so I think it best to remain here until the approach 
of evening, when it will be more pleasant. 

3Irs. Sutherland {excitedly) Oh! oh! don't say so, dear Arthur, 
but let us leave here immediately. 

Mr. Sutheiiand {surprised). Why, my dear wife, what is the 
cause of your great excitement? why wish to depart in such 
haste? This is a very pleasant spot; the trees afford an agree- 
able shade, and — 

Mrs. Sutherland. Yes, yes, dear Arthur, but let us leave at 
once ; Oh, let us depart immediately! 

Rosalie. Oh, dear mother, why wish to leave so soon, as father 
says, this is indeed a delightful place for rest, and the evening 
is so much more pleasant for sailing; Oh, 'tis siRch a pleasant 
grove : listen to the sweet songs of the birds, and how lovely 
they are too, such brilliant plumage, and — 



8 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

• 

Mrs. Sutherland. Yes, yes, sweet daughter; but, but, dear 
husband, for heaven's sake let us depart, and at once. Oh, Oh, 
yes, dear husband, dear daughter, let us leave, Jet us leave. 

Mr. Sutherland. Why, my dear sweet wife, what ails j^ou? 
why so nervous, why so great excitement of mind, are you in- 
disposed? Methinks it is the consequence of the glaring heafc 
of the tropical sun, whose mid-day rays are overpowering. We 
should have come ashore earlier in the day; so do not think of 
resuming our journey until the excessive heat abates, but en- 
deavor to enjoy this grateful shade. 

3Irs. SidJieilajid. Oh! don't speak of remaining here. Oht 
Oh! I shall go distracted if we do not depart at once. 

Mr. Sidherland. Certainly, dear wife, if you insist, but will 
you not first explain why you wish to leave? 

Mrs. Sutherland. Thank you, dear husband; yes, O yes, I will 
inform you. For several days past, my mind has been filled 
with dread forebodings of coming dangers, and last night I had 
a hideous dream — a dream full of horrors, of death, of terrors — 
I cannot recall the dread incidents of my dream; I only know 
we seemed in just such a place as this, the grove, the shore ap- 
pears the same. I can relate no more, but in Heaven's name, 
tc«'ry not here another moment, but let us hasten on board our 
boat; let the attendants take down the tents, place all aboard — 
let us — 

Mr. Sidherland. Yes, sweet wife, we will go as soon as we have 
taken some refreshments, I see the mid-day meal is about pre- 
pared; as soon as we have partaken of it we will resume our 
joui-ney. 

3Irs. Sutherland. Oh, thank you, Oh, bless you, dear Arthur; 
but suppose some robbers should attack us while we are at our 
repast; suppose, suppose — 

Mr. Sutherland. Eobbers! ha, ha ha, so this is the thought 
that has alarmed and so excited vou, my sweet Alice; I never 
imagined you had the least particle of coward in your clisposition. 
I remember well the night of that awful storm at sea, when even 
brave men turned pale, you appeared perfectly calm and com- 
posed, so I am confident j'^our present nervousness must be the 
consequence of indisposition; as for robbers, do you not see the 
strong force at our command, observe that each Turk and Arab 
has close at hand his firearms, his weapons, and we too have 
brought ashore with us our revolvers, and you, as well as our 
son and daughter, are most capital shots with the pistol; so even 
were we attacked, preposterous as is the idea, I doubt not we 
should give a pretty good account of ourselves, ha, ha, ha — 
What say you, Eosalie, sweet daughter ? 

Bosalie. Oh, I perfectly agree with you, dear papa, with all 
these brave and well armed Turks and Arabs around us, what is 
there to fear? Indeed, I do think it would be a delightful adven- 
ture to have to relate upon our return to America, an attack of 



EOSALIE SUTHEELAND. \) 

robbers in the land of Arabia, and if it wasn't that dear mother 
seems so unaccountably depressed in spirits to-day, I could 
almost wish that some robbers might, indeed, attack us, so I 
could just show you what a heroine would prove your little 
daughter. Why, with my revolver and this stiletto (u:h\ch she 
draws from her belt and flourishes, J I would certainly prove a 
match for at least half a dozen, ha, ha, ha. 

Mr. Sutherland. Well said, my brave little daughter, well 
said, ha, ha, ha; don't think, however, we shall have, on the 
present occasion, to call upon your valor, ha, ha, ha. 

Rosalie. Oh, now, you needn't laugh at me, dear j)apa, ha, ha, 
ha, for should robbers indeed attack us, you would be astonished 
at the prodigies of valor I should display, ha, ha, ha, and dear 
mamma is so brave when danger really threatens, though she now 
seems — 

Mrs. Sidherland. Hush, hush, my dear child, how wildly, 
how thoughtlessly, you speak; hush, oh hush, my precious 
child. 

Eosalie. Yes, yes, my dear mother, and as you seem in such 
a depressed state of mind, I will get my guitar and play and sing 
for you. 

il/rs Sutherland. Thanks dear daughter, anything in place of 
such wild talk in this dread place. 

Rosalie. Yes, yes, dear mother, but to call this so pretty spot 
a dread place, (Goes to their tent, gets her guitar) . 

Herbert. Ha, ha, ha, the idea of Kosaiie's fighting; what does 
a girl know of fighting, I should like to know? just as though 
mother and sister ha\^e not father and I to protect them. 

Rosalie {returning.) Ah, Herbert, you do not know what a 
brave sister you have; I will sing, let me see what shall it be. 
Oh, oh, I know; these wild picturesque Arabs around us remind 
me; it shall be " Araby's Daughter." (Sings.) 

Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! 

(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea) 
No pearl ever lay under Om(i7i's green water, 

More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. 

Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, 
How light was thy heart till Love's witchery came, 

Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing, 
And hush'd all its music and withered its frame ! 

But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands. 
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 

Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, 
With nought but the sea star to light up her tomb. 

And still, when the merry date seison is burning. 
And calls to the palm groves the young and the old, 

The happiest thi-re, from their pastime returning, 
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 

The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses 

Her dark flowii g hair ft-r some festival day. 
Will think of thy fate, till neglecting her tresses 

She mournfiilly turns from the mirror away. 



10 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

Farewell I Be it ours to embellish thy pillow 
With everything beauteoixs that grows in the deep ; 

Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow 
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. 

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 

That ever the sorrowing sea bird has wept ; 
With many a shell, in whose hollow, wreathed chamber 

We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept. 

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 

And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head. 
We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling. 

And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 

Farewell ! farewell ! until Pity's sweet foimtain 

Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave. 
They'll weep for the chieftain who died on that mountain— 

They'll weep for the maiden who sleeps in this wave. 

There, now, wasn't that pretty. 

Mrs, Sutherland. Yes, my dear, sweet daughter — but, oh, so, 
so sad. 

Mr. Sutherland. Could you not, dear Kosalie, have chosen 
something more enlivening? 

Rosalie. Yes, dear father ; I will now sing — Oh, but do listen 
to that sweet music! 

Some of the Arabs have commenced playing on string and reed instru- 
ments. 

Oh, is it not delightful ! Oh, I must dance to the music. 
Brother, let us dance. 

Herbert. Yes, sister. {They dance gaily to the music.) 

Mrs. Sutherland. May you ever, dear daughter, be as gay and 
happy as now ; but I cannot rid my mind of these dread fore- 
bodings. Oh, I do wish we were on the way back to Baltimore, 
our home. We have been absent more than a year, and I have 
a horrible presentiment that some of us will never see home 
again. 

Mr. Sutherland. Banish from your mind, dear wife, all such 
idle thoughts ; but, as you desire to return we will do so, though 
I would have preferred to continue our voyage as intended to 
Bombay, and perhaps Calcutta. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Thank you, dear Arthur, but since these 
brooding terrors have taken possession of my mind, I have 
ceased to enjoy the journey and shall know no peace until we 
start on our return. 

Mr. Sutherland. As you wish, dearest; I see the repast is now 
prepared, we will partake of it, and then start on our return. 

Rosalie. Oh, Oh, look father, look mother, who are they that 
come? See the riders swiftly approaching! how wild — how 
fierce they appear! 

Mrs. Sutherland. Merciful heaven! My dream, my dream! the 
robbers, the robbers! Oh, Oh, husband, children, we are lost, we 
are lost! 



EOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 11 

Mr. Sutherland (to attendants). To arms, to arms; fight for 
your lives! to arms, to arms! 

About a dozen mounted Bedouin Arabs dash upon the scene, the leader 
shouting, " Throw down your arms, and down on your faces ; down for your 
lives ; they who resist die." Mr. Sutherland, wife, son and daughter, have 
each grasped their revrlvers, and stand on the defence. The Arab and 
Turkish attendants all throw dowTi their arms, exclaiming, Al Hassan, the 
Vulture of the Desert, then prostrating themselves on the ground shriek for 
mercy. 

Mr. Sutherland. Never, villain — robbers— we will die with 
weapons in our hands; loved wife, loved daughter, death is now 
for you the greatest boon. Let them slay you if it is heaven's 
will, but let them not make of you captives; fight, fight to the 
death! Back, villains, the first that approaches dies. 

Fires a shot at the chief, but misses him, then at a rider, who, wounded, 
yet clinging to his steed, draws back. His wife, son and daughter also fire. 

Al Hassan. Slay all who resist, except that girl. He who 
injures her, dies by the hand of Al Hassan, Take her captive, 
but see you harm her not. 

They fire a volley, Mr. Sutherland and his wife both fall, apparently 
killed, the son drops as wounded, the distracted daughter continues to fire, 
having emptied her revolver, she snatches up the one dropped by her mother, 
and fireg the two remaining shots, then drops her pistol, draws her dagger, 
and stands regarding defiantly her foes, several of whom, having dismounted 
a!id handed to their comrades the reins of their steeds approach to execute 
their chieftain's commands — to take her prisoner. She strikes with her 
stiletto and wounds in the shoulder the first that approaches, crying, 
" Father, m ther, I will die with you." Two of the bedouins rush upon her, 
she str;kes with her dagger one who falls, the other robber seizes lier, and 
wrests from her hand the dagger ; her wounded brother partly rises and 
wounds him with his dirk; releasing the g rl, he turns, and, with the stiletto 
he has wrested fom the sister, stabs and slays the brother; the disarmed 
and distracted girl rushes amidst t'ae prostrate Arabs and Turks, wildly- 
shrieking : 

Bosalie. Oh, save me ! save me ! in heaven's name defend 
me! Oh, oh, are you — are you men ? Have you no daughters 
— no sisters ? Oh, oh, help — heljD me ; let me not be taken cap- 
tive by these Bedouin robbers! Oh, oh, cowards! Wretches, 
have you no manhood — no shame ? 

The prostrate Turks, and Arabs to her imploring appeal, reply : " 'Tis 
fate — 'tis fate ; bow and submit to the will of Allah." She falls upon her 
knees, with clasped hands, and eyes raised to Heaven, cries : 

Oh, oh, merciful Heaven, help me ! save me ! 

Two other robbers approach to capture her ; she rises, retreats a fe-w 
steps, then catches up one of the muskets droppe^l by one of ihe cowardly 
Turks and fires at one of the approaching foes. He falls ; the other rushes 
upon her ; she endeavors to strike with the musket ; he wrests it from her 
feeble grasp, and seizes the struggling and shrieking girl in his arms, and 
carries her to the f hieftain. 



12 EOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

Al Hassan. Bind her hands behind her. Well, my pretty- 
little tigress, your capture has cost us two of our best warriors ; 
when I get you to my desert home, methinks I shall tame you. 
{Then to Ids followers) Griither quickly the booty, and then we 
will awa3^ 

"WMlst the robbers are gathering the plunder, the unhappy, weeping girl 
kneels by the side of her fallen father and mother, 

Rosalie. Oh, my mother ! oh, my father ! would to Heaven I 
laid dead by your side, as does my brother. Oh, my dear father, 
I tried so hard to obey you. and yet am living. Oh, father — 
mother — are you dead, whilst your daughter is in the power 
of these wretches. 

The Arab roT)bers having secured the plunder, at the cojnmand of their 
chief, mount their steeds, two of them having first, in obedience to their 
orders, seized and placed before him on his steed the struggling girl, who 
shrieks aloud with terror and despair. 

Rosalie. Oh, oh, unhand me, ruffians ; let me — let me go. 
Oh, merciful Heaven, save me ! 

Al Hassan. Ah, struggle not, my pretty dove ; 'tis all in vain, 
my little dove — the Vulture has you in his grasp. ( To his war- 
riors) Mount, and away- -away. 

With loud shoiits, they disappear, the girl wildly shrieting in the Chief- 
tain's arms. At their departure, the Turkish and Arab attendants rising, 
gather around the prostrate forms of Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland and son. The 
father and mother revive. Mr. Sutherland arises, and assists to her feet his 
wife. 

Mr. Sutherland, Are you badly hurt, my dear wife ? 

Mrs. Sutherland. Oh, Oh, dear husband, speak not of my 
hurts, but oh, oh, tell me, yes, tell me, where is our daughter ? 
My daughter; oh, my daughter!- 

Mr. Sidherland {to the surrounding Turks and Arabs). Answer, 
you miscreants, knaves and cowards; ah, where, where is our 
daughter? 

Arabs. The Vulture of the Desert carried her away; 'tis fate; 
Allah, Allah, 'tis the will of Allah. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Oh, oh, my husband, give me back my 
daughter, or I shall die. Oh, oh, Heaven! My daughter in the 
power of those wretches ; oh, oh— ah, would to Heaven that she 
was dead ; ah, could I but see her lying dead here at our feet by 
the side of my dear son; but now, but now — 

Mr. Sutherland. Miserable villains, do j^ou stand calmly re- 
garding the wretchedness caused by your cowardice, contempti- 
ible curs, vile poltroons; away from my sight, lest I slay you as 
you stand! 

They all raise their arms, exclaiming in chorus : "Allah, Allah, it is the 
will of Allah." While addressing the Turks and Arabs, Mrs. Sutherland is 



KOSALIE SUTHERLAND . 13 

leaning upon her husband's shoulder, supported by his left arm, her face 
upon his bosom. At conclusion of his speech, she slips from his arm to the 
ground, gasping : 

Arthur, Arthur, my husband. 

Then swoons away. He thinks her dying, drops on one knee by her side 
lifts her in his arms, still kneeling, holds her to his bosom. 

3£r. Sutherlnnd. AHce, Alice, loved wife, don't, don't leave 
me; gracious Heaven, spare, oh, spare me this! Alice, Alice, 
speak to me; can it be? Oh, Heaven, is she too dead? Wife, son 
and daughter; all, all gone ! 

Again the Orientals, raising their arms and eyes towards Heaven, cry in 
chorus : 

Allah, Allah, 'tis the will of Allah. 
Wailing music by Orchestra. Ciurtaia falls. 



— -©-t-ve)- 

ACT II.— Two Yeaes Later. 
Scene. — Oasis in the Desert. 

The Oasis is one of Dame Natures' most choice and brilliant gems, glowing 
with rich verdure of tropical trees and shriibs. The palm, the date, the 
pomegranate, are mingled with other trees and shrubs of a ti'opical clime, 
blossoming vines and flowering shrubs are seen on everj' side, whilst birds- 
of rare and brilliant plumage, make vocal with their songs, the groves. 

Eater upon the scene the beautiful Zuleika, favorite wife of Al Hassan, the 
Vulture of the Desert. 

Zuleika. The time draws nigh for my lord's departure: he 
speaks of being absent three months; Al Hassan seldom tarries 
so long away. Oh, my Lord, when next you return, how will 
you greet me? The time was when j^ou arrived, the first name 
upon your lips was Zulieka, and your eager eyes searched for 
the dark-eyed gazelle as I am called, who, swift of foot as her 
namesake of the desert, flew to your eager arms and was en- 
folded in your fond embrace, while ardent kisses fell uxDon my 
lips, my brow, my eyes; but now of late, tho' you still enfold 
me in your arms and caress me in seeming fondness, there is 
a change. I note the wandering glance that seeks the pres- 
ence of that beautiful Frank maiden you brought here a captive 
while still a child, two years ago, and if not present, you sum- 
mon her to apjDear, and though you seldom address her, and 
then in words of seeming indifference and coldness, I observe 
your eyes follow her every movement, and rest upon her fair 
face, as they were wont to rest upon mine alone. No, I can- 



14 ROSALIE SUTHEELAND. 

not be deceived; my lord loves her, who Is called the Flower 
of the Desert, and he intends to make her his wife. 'Tis true,, 
that to my tender pleadings he has to this time seemed to listen,. 
and attempts to quiet with caresses and fond words, my jealous 
fears; but I note that, even as he speaks, his glances wander in 
quest of the Frank maiden. And shall I, Zuleika, the dark-eyed 
gazelle, give place to the flower of the desert, this pale Frank 
maiden of the lily complexion and golden hair? Never! ah, 
never; let her beware, or my stiletto shall drink her heart's 
blood! and yet, in my calmer moments, I see that she is not to 
blame, as I know she loves him not, and even seems to have an 
aversion for him. But shall she win from me, and without effort, 
what I strive in vain to retain, the love of Al Hassan. Is the 
love I so prize, an object of scorn to you, cold, proud beauty of 
a northern clime? What matters it to me, whether or no you 
seek to supplant me, as long as you rob me of Al Hassan's love? 
Are you to occupy the place till now held by Zuileka, in his 
heart? No, no, no, first, you shall die, though the bowstring 
awaits me; for of what value to me is life, without the love of 
Al Hassan. Ah! who comes? it is not she, my rival; Ah, no^ 
'tis Salima. {Here enters the lovely Saliina, second in favor to 
Zuleika, among the wives of Al Hassfin. 

Salima. Why wanders alone the beautiful Zuleika, the favor- 
ite of my lord ? 

Zuleika. Do you intend to mock me by your words ? 

Salbna {surprised). Mock you! Oh, no, fair Zuleika; what 
mean you? Surely you cannot suppose — 

Zuleika (bitterly). Then, why, pretend blindness to what m 
apparent to all eyes, that Zuleika's reign is over, that she is no 
longer the favorite of the chieftain, Al Hassan? 

Sali7na. You surprise me; explain what you mean? 

Zuleika. Why explain, Salima, when you well know our lord 
intends, in time to come, that the Frank maiden, called the 
Flower of the Desert, is to usurp my place as favorite. 

Salima. And will you permit that pale face maiden to sup- 
plant you? 

Zuleika. Zuleika will find a way — but silence, she comes, the 
Flower of the Desert apj)roaches. 

Enters upon the scene Eosalie Sutherland, the lost daughter of Mr. and 
Mas. Sutherland, known by the name of the Flower of the Desert. She is 
very beautiful, fair complexion, flowing tiesses of light, golden hue, form- 
ing contrast lo the dark eyes and raven hair of the lovely appearing Circas- 
sians and Georgians: like them, she is habited in rich Oriental costume, and 
adorned with sparklin'j; gems, she approaches Zuleika and Salima, who 
etand regarding her with jealous eyes. 

Rosalie. Zuleika, Salima, why do you, fair sisters, regard me 
with such unkind looks ? Why seek to avoid me? What have 
I done to offend you? Zuleika, in the past you have been kind 
to me, the orphan girl, why view me now with looks of aversion? 



ROSALIE SUTHEELAND. 15 

As ehe Bpeaks, goes up to Zuleika places, her hand gently upon her shoul- 
der. Zuleika rudely casts of her hand, and turns from her. 

Zuleika. Away! begone! 

Bosalie. Oh, oh, Zuleika! "Why, why so unkind; what have I 
done? Salinia, we have been friends; will you not continue as 
in the past to treat me kindly? 

Lays her hand upon the arm of Salima, who also casts off her hand, and 
turns haughtily away, without reply. 

Rosalie {weeping). Oh, oh, have I then no friends? My 
father, mother and brother all, all are dead ! and I, the orphan 
girl, was brought a captive here, and you, Zuleika, and you, 
Salima, were both so good to me, and received kindly the child 
of woe and sorrow. 

Zuleika (scornfully). If, as you say, yoxi are the child of woe 
and sorrow, why are you habited in such rich attire . Why wear 
those costly gems, the gift, as I well know, of my lord, Al 
Hassan. 

Rosalie. Because the mighty chieftain, Al Hassan, presented 
them to me, and commanded me under the penalty of his severe 
displeasure to wear them ; and I fear him far too much to dis- 
obey his commands. But what mean you, Zuleika ? You well 
know 'tis fear, and fear alone, I entertain for the chieftain, Al 
Hassan. Did he not cause ta be slain before my eyes my dear 
father and dear mother, as also my brother ? How can I feel 
fo-r him aught but aversion and dread? 

Zulieka. Ha, ha, ha. Ah, would that my lord could but hear 
you, for, methinks, the bowstring, in place of those priceless 
pearls, his gift, would then encircle your fair neck. Ha, ha, ha. 

Rosalie. Oh, Zuleika, how cruel. Oh, how unkind you are 
to me ; and I never did you harm. Whj'^ — why do you hate me 
so bitterly, when I entertain only feelings of kindness and of 
friendship for yourself. 

Zulieka. Go, leave me ; speak not to me more ; your voice is 
hateful to me. 

Rosalie. Oh, oh, Zulieka. 

Salima. Fair Zuleika, be not so unkind to her. I have lis- 
tened to her words ; indeed, she is not to blamed, but rather to 
be piti^^d. Flower of the Desert, pardon my unkindness. 

Rosalie (running to and embracing Salima). Oh, dear, dear 
Salima, then you will be my friend. Oh, thank you, bless you, 
Salima. 

Salima. Yes, yes, sweet Flower of the Desert ; I will be your 
friend, as in the past. The idea of your elevation to the rank of 
my lord Al Hassan's favorite excited my jealousy, and embittered 
me against you ; but, as I know that you love him not, and seek 
not the high destiny that awaits you, my enmity is at an end, 
and, as in the past, I love you. 



16 ROSALIE SUIHERLAND. 

» 

Bosalie. Oh, dear, sweet Salima, how I — 

Zuleika. Since you will not rid me of your presence, I myself 
will leave. Had you not, Salima, deemed me the same as fallen 
from my high estate, you would not have dared to use in my 
presence such language. But, beware— Zuleika may yet retain 
her power. So, t say again, beware, Flower of the Desert, we 
shall meet again. (Exit.) 

Bosalie. Oh, dear Salima, you have incurred for my sake the 
enmity of Zulieka, the chieftain Al Hassan's favorite ; I fear 
much she will cause you harm. 

Salama. Fear not for me, her power is over : but, oh, beware 
you of her ; let her not find you alone, for in her vindictive rage 
and jealousy, she would slay you. Be on your guard till my 
lord, the mighty chieftain, Al Hassan, has elevated you to the 
high position of his wife and favorite, then you need not fear, 
for she then, as we all, will be compelled to do you homagB. 

Bosalie. Oh, oh, Salima, what are you saying; what mean 
you? I — I, the wife of Al Hassan? Sooner death! Ah, yes; a 
thousand deaths ! (Aside. ) To think of wedding a man with six 
wives! 

Salima. Oh, say not so, sweet lovely flower, you would so 
grace your exalted position, and death is bitter; yes, very bit- 
ter; yet you but have the choice. The maiden who scorns the 
love of my lord, must surely die ! 

Bosalie. Then let me die! I fear not death! 

Salima. I know, sweet flower, that you are brave. Oh, so 
brave. For did you not, when a child, slay with your own hands, 
two of our bravest warriers? 

Bosalie. Oh, si^eaknot of those dreadful events, sweet Salima, 
I was so excited then, I scarce knew what 1 did. Ah, refer not 
to that time, please 

Salima. I will not, since you request it; but. oh, lovely flower, 
consider well your words — reflect — bow to the will of Allah. Ah, 
who can resist fate? But I see in the distance, my lord approach- 
ing, perhaps he seeks an interview 'ere his departure with the 
sweet Flower of the Desert, so I will leave yoa. 

Bosalie. No — oh, no, leave me not, dear Salima, oh, oh, but 
I will go with you, I do so dread his awful presence, since of late 
he looks on me with eyes that seem to scorch me "with their 
burning gaze. Ah, yes, he comes this way, let us flee— depart 
'ere he shall observe us, and, perhaps, command me to remaia. 
(Exit.) 

Enter Al Hassar, the Vulture of the Desert. 

Al Hassan. Methought I heard voices here, and one, from itg 
harmonious tones, seemed the voice of the sweet Flower of the 
Desert, but she has fled, as ever is her wont at my ajjproach, but 
'twill not be for long, for on my return from this expedition I 
shall make her my bride. I know she loves me not, but feara 
me only, but it matters not. Is she not my slave, to do with a^ 



EOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 17 

I choose? Do I not hold in my hands her life? Ah, since she 
will not love me, she does well to fear me. Yes, as soon as I 
return I shall make hei' my wife and first favorite of my harem. 
I shall no longer give heed to the jealous pleadings of Zuleika. 
True, she, too, is lovely and fond of me, but I tire of her; and 
what is her loveliness compared with the enravishing charms of 
this beauteous Frank maiden, that I have named the Flower of 
the Desert. But I must conceal from Zuleika my intention, 'till 
my return, lest in her jealous fury she might harm the sweet 
Flower of the Desert. When I have elevated to the exalted posi- 
tion of chief wife and favorite, she dare not injure her, though 
I shall observe her closely, and may, as a preventive, have her 
bow-stringed. Yes, I think 'twill be best; bi;t I will wait and see. 
Oh, beauteous Flower of the Desert! lovely as are represented, 
hour is of Paradise! Yes, you shall immediately ujDon my re- 
turn, become my favored wife. I swear it by the beard of Ma- 
homet, and who here dare dispute my will, since, as is well 
known, the penalty is death! Ah, lovely Frank maiden, shrink 
from me, flee from me, now if you will, since your sweet timidity 
but heightens in my eyes your charms. Y''es, flutter your wings, 
my little dove, jon cannot escape the Vulture! The boundless 
desert encompasses you on every side, so you are well secured 
against my return. But it is time for me to start upon my expe- 
dition, my spies have informed me of the approach of a richly 
laden caravan. The Vulture of the Desert will stoop and release 
them of their burden, lest, perhaps, they might faint by the way 
across these arid wastes. In order not to alarm the beautiful 
Frank maiden, I will be on my guard, and say but little to her at 
parting, but — ha, ha, ha! Ah, yes, ha, ha, ha, upon my return 
I will show you, beauteous maiden, how an Arabian Chieftain 
woos, ha, ha, ha. (Exit) 

"Withdraw the slides that conceal from view the bamboo dwelling of Al 
Hassan and tents of his tribe. The dwelling is in the Oriental style, and 
Biirronnded by Turkish pavilions, siimmer-hoiises constructed of bamboo, 
partly concealed by climbing roses and blossoming vines, rustic seats, and 
an elevated divan are seen — playing fountains are also there, that add. with 
the music of falling water, enchantment to the scene. Here in front are 
assembling the warriors of Al Hassan, ready for departure, awaiting the ap- 
pearance of their chief. Also, are seen in gala splendor his numerous 
wives. Near by stands the Flower of the Desert. 

Enter the chieftain, Al Hassan. His warriors hail his appearance with 
loud warlike shouts ; his wives bid him farewell and wish him good success 
and safe return. He bids them farewell, embraces Zuleika, who comes to 
him. 'He then stands a moment before the Ilower of the Desert as thnugh 
in contemplation of her beauty, but turns away without addressing her. 
Zuleika and his other wives behi Id with evident feelings of jealou.sy his 
absorbing gaze fixed xvpon the Flower of the Desert. She appeared to shrink 
in alarm from his piercing gaze. They mount their steeds. The wives of 
the warriors, all of whom appear, wave their adieus. The trumpet soimds, 
Al Hassan and his warriors dash away with wild screams and shouts, which 
are re-echoed by such of the Arabs as remain. Curtain falls. 



18 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

ACT III. 

Place, City of Baltimore. Scene, Interior of a Mansioyi. 

A lady's boudoir. Present, Mr. Sutlierland and his invalid -wife, who 
occupies a large easy-chair. She is between thirty-five and forty years of 
age ; yet, owing to suffering and anguish of mind, concerning the sad fate 
of her daughter Rosalie, her hair has turned not gray, but white ; her 
husband's hair has also turned gray, since their return from Arabia. They 
convei'se. 

Mr. Sutherland, {holding in his hand an open letter). So you 
see, clear wife, by this letter from my agent — the third I have 
sent to Arabia, in search of our loved daughter, that he is about 
to return, having, as he says, searched all the known oases of 
the desert for traces of our daughter Kosalie, but all in vain; 
and Jie is confident she cannot be living. 

MrH. Sidlierland. Ah, dear husband, could I but share that 
confidence, then might I live; or, rather die in peace; but it is 
the dread thought of her being alive that fills my heart with 
anguish and despair; I feel as though I could not die, until I 
know for a certainty her fate. No, no, I could not rest in my 
grave, unless this is ascertained. Oh, oh, merciful Heaven! 
graut.that she may indeed be dead. Oh, oh, to think of he'/ as 
alive, and in the power of that dread. Bedouin chieftain, called 
the Vulture of the Desert. Oh, oh, think of it, dear Arthur; she 
was fourteen years of age when lost — two years ago — so she is 
now just sixteen; oh, she was so lovely; and the unfolding of 
her youthful charms, like the opening of the rosebud, must 
show, if living, our Rosalie surpassingly beautiful. Oh, oh, to 
think of her thus; and in the power of that brutal Bedouin 
chieftain! Oh, oh, Arthur, Arthur, the thought scorches my 
brain; 'twill, 'twill drive me mad, dear Arthur; oh, oh, my heart, 
m.y poor heart! 

Mr. Sutherland {placing around her his arms). My dear, dear 
wife, how can I comfort, how console you? But, dear Alice, re- 
member Heaven's mercies; remember that the wind is tempered 
to the shorn lamb; that not a sparrow falls to the grotmd with- 
out our Heavenly Father's knowledge. He sees, He knows her 
place of abode; His arm is mighty to defend. He will temper, 
for our little lost lamb, even the sirocco of the desert. Is He 
not the good Shepherd who goes in search of the lost lamb astray 
in the desert? Ah, yes, dear wife, and bringeth it back upon 
his shoulder to the fold; so, may He not, in His own good time, 
restore to us in all her innocence, our little lamb, indeed lost in 
the desert? 

Mrs. Sutherland. Oh, dear husband, how comforting — how 
consoling are j'our words. How you ever with your strength 
support my weakness ; how like the oak that upholdeth the 



ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 19 

clinging vine. Ob, bless you, dear Arthur, and to think of 
your double burden. Your own anguish of heart and mind, and 
my added load of hopeless misery, which I strive in vain to re- 
press and conceal from you. But you are right, dear husband, 
I ought not to despair, but share with you your strong faith, and 
hope in Heaven's mercy. 

{Enter Servant.) Sir, Mr. Clarence Gordon is in the drawing- 
room. 

Mr Sutherland. Say to Mr. Gordon that I will be with him in 
a few moments. 

Mrs.. Sutherland. Oh, Arthur, have him come up here ; it al- 
ways cheers so my drooping spirits to see him \ for though but 
a boy in years, he is so strong, of such a sanguine, hopeful dis- 
position, that he seems to drive away for the time despondency 
from my mind. 

Mr Sutherland. Certainly, dear wife. (To Servant) Bequest 
Mr. Gordon to please walk up to Mrs. Sutherland's room. {Exit 
Servavt. ) 

Mrs. Sutherland. Clarence seems to me as a son, in place of 
our dear boy who was slain by the robbers ; and had they not 
carried away our loved daughter, he would, in all probability, 
when of a suitable age, become such ; for well I know, boy as 
he was, he loved, and still fondly loves, our dear Rosalie ; and 
she, though at the time a mere child, was not, I think, indiffer- 
ent to him, 

Mr. Sutherland. I agree with you, Alice ; I l^elieve our little 
girl felt more than friendship for her boyish lover ; and Clarence 
was every way worthy of her, possessed as he is of every noble 
attribute of heart and mind, I would gladly in time have called 
him son. Ah, I hear him approaching. 

Enter Mr. Clarence Gordon, a young man, eighteen years of age, fine look- 
ing and manly in appearance. Mr. Sutherland grasps him warmly by the 
hand, and leads him to his wife. 

Mr. Sutherland. Clarence, I am happy to see you ; and my 
dear wife always derives much pleasure from your visits. 

Clarence Gordon {shaking hands with them). Thank you, 
Mr. Sutherland. Mrs. Sutherland, how are you this morning ? 

Mrs. Sutherland. As usual, Clarence ; until I have heard of 
my davighter's fate, I can but remain in my jDresent condition. 

Clarence. Dear madam, is there any news? 

Mrs. Sutherland. Nothing encouraging. 

Clarence. Mr. Sutherland, have you heard lately from your 
agent in Egypt? 

3Ir. Sutherland. Yes, I had a letter from him this morning. 
He writes, that in accordance with my directions, accompanied 
with a large, well-armed force, he had searched the oases of 
Akhaf desert, but all in vain ; he obtained no trace whatever of 
my daughter. He thinks she must have died, and he is now 
about to start on his return. 



20 EOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

• 

Clarence {rising and walking the room) . Poltroon, fool that he 
is to abandon the search. I say, that she is alive; I know it; I 
feel it; my heart tells me that she Jives; her voice is on the 
breeze; her spirit calls to me; but, dear sir, what is now your 
intention, to procure another agent, I suppose? 

Mr. Sutherland That, Clarence, is my intention, but where 
can I find one suitable. The last I sent was an experienced 
traveler in Eastern lands, apparently an energetic man; and, as 
you see, like those who proceeded him, he has met with no suc- 
cess. 

3frs. Sutherland. Ah, yes, dear husband, where find an agent, 
and when found, why hope more from him than the others have 
accomplished? Indeed, I too, think she must be dead, and ah, 
'tis far better so, though, when Clarence speaks, she seems to 
me alive. 

Clarence. Dear friend, your daughter, my Kosalie, is indeed 
alive ; but concerning an agent, I know of one ready to start im- 
mediately. He, for two years past, has been engaged in the study 
of Oriental languages, and can express himself sufficiently well 
to be understood in several Eastern tongues. Intending to travel 
through Arabia, he has read much of that and adjoining lands. 

M-. Sidlierland. Who is he? Your recommendation is all 
sufficient, I will secure him at once. Some friend of yours, I 
suppose ? 

Clarence. Yes, sir: and of yours. 

Mr. Suthe7iand. Ah, indeed; inform me of his name, and 
where to be found? 

Clarence. He is to be found here, and his name is Clarence 
Gordon. 

Mr. Sutherland. Yourself ? Oh, no, Clarence, do not think of 
such a thing; thank you, my brave, noble-hearted friend, but 
consider your youth; why, indeed, in years, you are but a boy, 
not as yet eighteen, I think? 

Clarence. No, sir; not quite eighteen; but, then, I shall be 
to-morrow morning thirty-five — minutes past two. 

Mr. Sutherland. Ha, ha, ha, you seem, Clarence, very precise; 
what think you, dear wife, of Clarence's wild proposition ? 

Mrs. Sutherland. Why, that it is indeed wild, preposterous; a 
boy like him ; one, too, who has never traveled to undertake 
that which experienced travelers and robust men have failed in. 
Oh, no, no, but bless you, my dear boy, for your noble offer ; 
but you must not permit your affection for our loved Kosalie to 
run away with your reason; if you were a man — 

Clarence. I expect, dear madam, to show myself a man, and 
when I return with my sweet Eosalie, your beautiful daughter, 
I think you will both acknowledge it. 

Mrs. Sidherland. Why, how sanguine you talk, just as though 
you knew that Rosalie was alive, and that you would certainly 
find and rescue her. 



KOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 21 

Clarence. I do, indeed, dear Madam, feel assured that your 
daughter, my loved Eosalie, is alive, and that I shall discover 
and rescue her. 

Mrs. Sutherland . But on what do you base your assurance — 
your confidence. Why have the others that searched for her 
met with no success, and why feel you so certain of finding her? 

Clarence. I will tell you. You see they did not go to the right 
place, and I am going there — going direct to where she is, so 
shall certainly rescue her. 

3f7's. Sutherland. Oh, oh, what reasoning. Ah, Clarence, you 
are, indeed, a boy. 

Clarence. Wait and see. 

Mr. Sutherland. Why, you speak as though you actually knew 
of her place of concealment. 

Clarence. I do. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Why, Clarence, what do you mean, 'tis plain 
your great love for my sweet daughter has disordered your mind. 

Mr. Sutherland. You say you know where our daughter is to 
be found ; if so, if so tell us where she is ? 

Clarence. She is on an oasis of the Arabian desert. 

Mr. Sidherland. But did not I tell you that every known 
oasis of the desert had been carefully searched, and all in vain. 

Clarence. Yes, but I do not expect to find her on any known 
oasis, but on some oasis far in the interior of the desert, un- 
known to any, save the tribe of Arabs who own the sway of the 
Bedouin chieftain, Al Hassan, called the Vulture of the Desert. 

Mr. Sutherland. You would require an army for your pur- 
pose, since Al Hassan's Arab warriors are numbered by thou- 
sands. How do you expect to arm, eqaip and mount so large a 
force ? 

Clarence. I require no army — no large force ; I shall go 
alone. 

Jirs. Sutherland. Gracious Heaven, hear him I He going 
alone ! Surely, dear Clarence, you are mad. 

Clarence. If I return without your daughter, my sweet and 
beauteous Eosalie, then term me, if you please, both fool and 
madman ; but I say again, wait and see. 

Mr. Sutherland. And will you venture alone into the lion's 
den — to the vulture's nest? Do you not know that you will cer- 
tainly be slain. No, no, if you will indeed go on this wild ad- 
venture, you must have at least one hundred men, as some 
protection. 

Clarence. Dear sir, I beg to differ from you ; there was the 
mistake of my predecessors, and the principal cause, as I feel 
-assured, of their failure. The Bedouin Chieftain, I am confi- 
dent, has numerous spies and scouts, stationed at various 
points, who would be certain to discover and acquaint him con- 
cerning the approach of any large force, while a single horseman 
might escape discovery, or at least excite no alarm. 



22 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

Mr. Sutherland. What you say Clarence astonished me, and I 
must confess there appears some method in your madness, but 
my dear boy, consider the great risk, the danger you incur. 

Clarence. Oh, don't sj)eak of danger, am I not going to bring 
home my Rosalie? 

Mrs. Sutherland. Oh, oh, my dear, brave, reckless boy. 

Mr. Sutherland. But, Clarence, tell us, how do you expect to 
find that unknown oasis, where you say is concealed our darling 
daughter? 

Clarence. I will relate my plans : As soon as I have arrived at 
the point on the coast of Arabia where you were attacked by the 
robbers, I shall leave the boat, and procure at any price the 
fleetest Arabian steed to be obtained for money. I shall take 
with me one of the best repeating rifles to be procured, two 
heavy revolvers for my holsters, and a lighter one for my belt. 
I shall also have a good sword and dirk. I shall at once strike 
out for the desert to the known haunts of the robbers. I shall 
carry with me the best field-glass to be found, so as to be able 
to descry the approach of any one long before I shall become 
visible to the naked eye. As soon as I discover the Bedouin 
chieftain and his followers, I shall at a long distance unseen fol- 
low them, and never let them from my sight till they conduct 
me to the hidden oasis where is my Eosalie, and then, and 
then, — why, I shall put her on my steed and bring her home, of 
course. 

Mr. Sutherland. Your hand, Clarence Gordon, pardon us 
terming you a boy, you are a man; and such a man — none braver 
ever trod the earth. 

Clarence. No, no, thank you, I am as yet but a boy, but just 
wait till I bring home your daughter, my Bosalie, then, if you 
please, term me a man. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Oh! — oh. Heaven bless and prosper you, my 
dear son, for such from this moment you are to me. Oh, you 
are indeed worthy of my sweet daughter! You have, whilst list- 
tening to your words, caused to spring np in my bosom hope! 
Yes, hope, which has been dead for years. I do believe now if 
living, you will, under Heaven's guidance and protection, find and 
rescue my dear daughter. But how know you she lives? 

Clarence. Her voice is on the breeze, and her spirit calls to 
me. Ah, hark! do you not hear her? Listen — there again; 
listen. 

Mrs. Sutheriand. Why Clarence, my son, I hear nothing. 
What mean you? 

Clarence. Listen, listen, Mr. Sutherland, do you not hear? 
there, again! listen, listen. 

Mr. Sutherland.. I bear nothing, Clarence; what hear you? 

Clarence. Listen, listen; do you not hear her words: " Come, 
come, Clarence?" You sent, dear friend, three strangers in 
search of my Eosalie^ they failed, now goes a friend — ah, yes. 



KOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 23 

and oue tliat loves her; he will find, yes, and rescue her. Yes, 
yes, dear friends, father, mother, when your son returns, then 
will you, once more, behold your daughter. 

Mis. Sutherland. Oh, oh, Arthur, Arthur, do you hear? Oh, 
oh, I do feel — yes, feel in my heart that Clarence will bring back 
our precious daughter. 

Mr. Sutherland. Sweet wife, dear Alice, I share with you the 
presentiment of his success; I do think that our dear son 
Clarence will return with our loved daughter Rosalie. 

Clarence. Return with Rosalie, ha, ha, ha, what doubt is there 
of that, I should like to know? Am I not going on purpose to 
bring her? and what is going to prevent me? ha ha, ha. Why, 
of course, I shall bring back my Rosalie; have'nt I been prepar- 
ing these two years, in case your agents failed to find her, and 
is'nt my passage paid, and my state-room secured on board the 
steamer Atlantic that starts to-morrow morning? 

Mrs. Sutherland. What, Clarence, you leave to-morrow? 

Mr. Sutherland. Leave, on the Atlantic, to-morrow morning? 

Clarence. Why, certainly. Why should I wait now that my 
preparations are complete? Don't my Rosalie call to me? Listen, 
don't you, don't you hear her? So, dear mother, dear father, 
farewell! farewell! Look for our i^turn in about six months, 
though, perhaps, it maybe eight or nine; I am not quite sure as 
to the time, but don't doubt in the least about my bringing back 
your daughter, my sweet and lovely Rosalie. Good-bye, good- 
bye! Any message to send to my Rosalie? 

Jfr.s. Sutherland. Message, don't speak of messages; but, 
Clarence, bring her; bring to my arms my daughter! 

Clarence. Bring her, bring Rosalie — why, why, certainly. Am 
I not going expressly for that purpose? 

Mr. Sutherland. Good-bye, my son, though I shall see you 
again on board of the steamer in the morning. Heaven's blessing 
accompany you, my boy. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Heaven's choicest blessings attend you, 
dear Clarence. May angels encompass you about, and guard and 
defend you. My son, good-bye, good-bye, my dear boy; oh, 
bless you, Clarence. 

Clarence. Thank you, thank you, dear mother, pray for me 
and your sweet daughter, and you will soon see us both here. 
Good-bye, good-bve! 

Retires towards the door, before reaching it stops, and appears to listen, 
then says: 

Her voice is on the breeze, and her spirit calls to me : come, 
come, Clarence, come. Ah, yes, bright star of my life; beaute- 
ous love of my soul, I come, I come! Yes, yes, loved Rosalie, 
your Clarence comes across the billowy deep, mountains, vales, 
and desert sands; your fond lover comes. 



24 EOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

Witli hasty steps departs. Mrs. Sutherland stands leaning upon her 
husband's shoulder, supported by his arm, gazing towards Clarence; as he 
disappears, sinks upon her knees with clasped hands, and eyes raised to- 
wards Heaven. Her husband stands with eyes and extended arms raised to 
Heaven ; low plaintive music from the Orchestra, as the curtain falls. 



ACT IV. 

Pjace, Oasis of the Desert. Scene, Forest Glade. 

Enter Rosalie. 

Rosalie. How unkindly Zuleika continues to treat me, as do 
all the wives of the great chieftain Al Hassan, with the excep- 
tion of sweet Salima, who seems kind to me ; and yet what have 
I done to offend them ? I am unconscious of having wronged 
them, and yet they all appear to hate me. They are looking for 
the return of Al Hassan. Oh, how I dread his coming, since 
Zuleika and Salima have informed me of his intention to make 
me his wife. I his wife! — n^s^er. Ah, never. Sooner will I die 
than wed the murderer of my dear parents, and dear little 
brother, who died defending me. Oh, poor, unhappy, friendless 
girl that I am ! Are there none to help — to save? No, no, 
none; since they are all dead that loved or cared for me. All, 
did I say? There was another, my girlhood's friend— ah, yes, 
and my girlhood's lover. We were children together. How oft 
he told me when he became a man he would wed me, and ever 
love and care for me : and when I left he placed upon my finger 
this ring, and bid me ever wear it for his sake. Ah, little did we 
think we were parting never more to meet uiDon earth. Oh, oh, 
Clarence Gordon, have you, too, forgotten me ! and yet you told 
me you never would forget ; and I, girl, child that I was, be- 
lieved you. Yes, yes, and believe you still. Come, oh, come, 
Clarence Gordon, and take me away from here ! Come, oh, 
come soon, or it will be too late — I shall be dead. Come, come, 
Clarence, come ! What am I saying — how can he come? He 
must suppose me dead ; and, if not, how discover this hidden 
oasis of the desert, unknown to all, save Al Hassan and his 
tribe. Ah, were he to discover it, he would but come here to 
die ; since who dare invade the lion's den? Who dare venture 
amidst the fierce warriors of Al Hassan, the Vulture of the 
Desert? Ah, is there then, indeed, no hope? I am so young to 
die ; and yet die I must, if help does not soon arrive. {Kneeli.) 
Oh, merciful Heaven, who has protected me this far — forsake 
me, not, in this my extremity ! I am as a little dove in the 
claws of the vulture ; yet canst Thou, Supreme Ruler, deliver 
and save me. Protector of the fatherless and motherless, pre- 



BOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 25 

serve, defend the poor, orphan girl, who fi-om the depths of her 
misery cries to Thee. The lost and forsaken one implores Thy 
pity and mercy. Oh, gracious Heaven, {rises in alarm) what is 
that ? Ah, 'tis the trumpets that herald the coming of Al Has- 
san. Oh, oh, he will send for me. Where can I hide — where 
go — where flee? 

Disappears at side of scene, when the partition being thrown open, dis- 
closes the bamboo rssidence of the Chief, and thetei tsof his tribe. The 
wives of Al Hassan, and a uumber of Arabs, stand in front of their tents. 
The men, with loud shouts and blowing of trumpets, hail th^ir approaching 
chief. He, vith his baud of moui ted warriors, dash upou th" scene — they 
come with wild, warlike shouts. The Chieftain's steed is held by an Arab 
while he disiiouuts. Zuleika advances and throws herself in his arms: 
he embrace; her. Salima and his other wives also approach and make low 
obeisance. He greets them — Zara, Satee, Zobeide, Akolomb by name. He 
then with Zuleika walks to the front. 

Al Hassan. And how has my lovely Zuleika fared during my 
absence ? 

Zuleika. Well, my lord, but Zuleika has been very lonely 
while her lord was gone. 

Al Hassan. Ah! is it so, my charming Zuleika? But where 
is the Flower of the Desert? I see her not. 

Zuleika. I know not, my lord; but oh why, inquire for her, in 
this the first moment of your return? Is not Zuleika, who you are 
wont to call your dark-eyed gazelle, by your side? so why, my 
lord, think or speak of the pale Frank maiden? 

Al Hassan. Because I desire to see, to speak to her. 

Zuleika, But why my lord wish to see, to speak to her? 

Al Hassan. What, Zuleika, do you presume to question me? 

Zuleika. Oh! no, no, my lord. 

Al Hassan. 'Tis well. {Here Salima passes, the chieftain calls 
her,) Salima, come here. 

Salhwi. What wills my lord? 

Al Hassan. Where is the Flower of the Desert, Salima? 

Salima. I know not my lord, I am seeking her. 

Al Hassan. Go find her, and bring her to me. 

Salvna. To hear is to obey. {Exit ) 

Zuleika. Oh, oh, my lord, why wish — 

Al Hassan {sternly.) Zuleika, do you question? 

Zuleika {meekly crossing her hands.) Oh! no, no, my lord. 

Al Hassan. 'Tis well. 

A page approaches, makes obeisance. 

Page. When will it please your highness to dine? 
Al Hassan. In one hour from now; inform my wives that I 
await them here. (Page makes obeisance and retires.) 
Al Hassan (to an Arab who passes near.) Houssain! 
Houssain. What wills my lord? 
Al Hassan. See that my steed is well attended. 
2 



26 KOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

* 
Here approaches his wives, four or five in mimber, who maVe obeisance, 
and stand in silence before him. Salima retiirus, accompanied by the llower 
of the Desert. They make obeisance, and stand respectfully before him. 

Al Hassan. Beauteous Flower of the Desert, have you no word 
of welcome for your lord and chieftain? 

Bosalie. I hope I see your highness Avell? 

Al Hassan. Thanks, sweet Flower of the Desert; I summoned 
you here to inform \ou, that to-morrow eve, at this hour, you 
are to become my bride— the beautiful favorite of Al Hassan. 
You are silent. Do you not hear me, most beautiful maiden? 

Rosalie. I hear your highness. 

Al Hassan. And understand me, I hope, sweet Flower of the 
Desert? 

Bosalie. I understand your highness. 

Al Hassan. And will obey me? 

Rosalie. Have I not always obeyed your highness? 

Al Hassan. True, very true; and now, most charming maiden, 
prepare for the morrow; I have brought with me rich labrics to 
form the robes that are to adorn your lovely person, and precious 
gems, that any queen might covet, to set off your surpassing 
charms; I will send them to you by the hands of those that are 
to fit and complete your robes; but what is that? do I hear 
murmurs? Are there any present who dispute my will, my 
pleasure? Harroun, bring here the bow-string {to his wives) ; 
I wait your answer. 

All the Wives. No, no, no; oh, oh, no, no, your highness. 

Al Hassan. It is well; but, Zuleika, what mean those lowering 
glances towards my favored, my chosen one, the beautiful 
Flower of the Desert? 

Zideika. Nothing; oh, nothing, my lord. 

Al Hassan. 'Tis well, 'tis well; go take by the hand the fair 
sovereign of my heart. 

Zuleika. How, did I understand my lord? 

Al Hassan. I repeat not my words; obey me, 

Zuleika advances to Rosalie, and takes with the tip of her fingers her 
hand. 

Al Hassan. Embrace her. 

Zuleika. What say you, my lord? 

Al Hassan {sternly). Obey me. 

Zuleika. Yes; oh, yes, my lord {embraces her coldly). 

Al Hassan. And now, Zuleika, kiss her. 

Zuleika. Oh, oh, my lord! 

All Hassan. Obey me. 

Zuleika. Did I understand my lord? 

Al Hassan. Harroun, bring here the bow-string. 

Zuleika. No, no; oh, yes, yes, my lord {kisses Rosalie). 

Al Hassan. 'Tis well, Zuleika. 



ROSALIE SUTHEELAND. 27 

Ztileika. May I retire, my lord? 

Al Hassan. Yoii may retire. 

Zukika {aside toRosalie) . Your heart's blood shall pay for this. 

Al Hassan. Zaleika, {she turns and makes obeisence, and says;) 
My lord? 

Al Hassan. "What said j^on to the Flower of the Desert? 

Zuleika. I was cougratulatiug her upon her good fortune, my 
lord. 

Al Hassan. 'Tis well, you may retire, Zuleika. 

Zideika {wilh low obeismce) . Thanks, my lord. (Exit.) 

Rosalie. Your highness, may I retire? 

Al Hassan. You may. beauteous queen of my heart; but wait 
a moment; let all present advance, and do homage to their future 
queen; {all advance, and make ohe'isunce.) 

Al Hassan. Beauteous Flower of the Desert, are there any 
among my wives that are disagreeable to you; any that you 
would like to see bow-stringed? Harroun, attend her orders. 
{Hdvroun advances uith the bow-string) . 

Al Hassan. What say you, my lovely queen? 

Rosalie. Oh, oh; no, no, my lord; no, your highness. 

Al Hassan. But, I think you have never seen any one bow- 
stringed; perhaps 'twould amuse you, most lovely maiden, if so, 
please designate which of these you would like to see strangled. 
Harroun, attend her wishes. 

Rosalie. Oh! no, no, my lord; indeed, your highness, it would 
not amuse me. 

Al Hassan. It would not amuse you? "Why, you astonish me; 
but methinks you are difficult to divert^ to amuse. 

Rosalie. Permit me to retire, my lord. 

Al Hassan. Beauteo^^s maiden, you may retire. 

Rosalie {making obeisance.) Thanks, your highness. {Exit.) 

A page enters. The banquet awaits my lord. 
Al Hassan. "We will dine. ^ 

Walks towards the honse. His wives make obeisance, as he passes them, 
and then, with the other attendants, follow him at a respect. ul distance. 
As they arrive near the house, t le partition slides together and conceais it 
from view. I he forest glade again is seen.) 

Enter, the Flower of the Desert. 

Rosalie. A respite, a short respite! I must improve the time 
allowed me to escape, or perish in the attempt. I know that 
escape seems indeed hopeless, but I will make the attempt, 
trusting in kind Heaven's protection. I can but perish should I 
fail, and death is far preferable to the dread fate that here awaits 
me. By seeming compliance with Al Hassan's wishes, I have 
disarmed all suspicion of opposition to his will. The night 
draws nigh, there will be no moon; darkness will favor my 
attempt, at flight. I will take the chieftain's favorite steed. 



28 BOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

Salima, he is as swift as the wind, and cannot be overtaken. 
'Tis well, that since I came here I have learned to ride like an 
Arab, without a saddle. I will go to the house, procure a bridle, 
and return here, the horses are picketed but a short distance 
from this place; as soon as sufficiently dark, I will ride out upon 
the boundless desert. I know not what direction to take, but 
will tiust in Heaven's guidance. Oh, Clarence! oh, Clarence 
Gordon! did you but know in what sad strait is the one you 
love. Ah! how often has the lost and forsaken girl, your Rosalie, 
called upon you for help, for rescue, and yet you come not, 
Clarence. Oh! Clarence, come to me; come, come with speed, 
or I am lost; your Rosalie will die. Oh! oh, how sad my fate, to 
become the wretched wife of that fierce Bedouin chieftain, or 
else perish, perhaps, of hunger and thirst, amidst the desert 
wilds. I will return to the house, lest I should be long missed, 
and return here within the hour. {Exit.) 

Shortly enters upon the scene Clarence Gordon, gazing around. 

Clarence. What a lovely spot is this! Of all the wild and hid- 
den oases of the desert that I have visited, in the past months, 
none compare in loveliness with this; it seems, indeed, an Eden 
of delight; a fit abode for angels! For one month, I have fol- 
lowed at a long distance, this terrible Bedouin chieftain, Al Has- 
san, the fierce Vulture of the Desert! Again, and again, he has 
led me to wild oases of the desert, inLabited b}^ the tribes of 
Arabs who own his swa3^ and then, in the darkness of the night, 
I have ai^proached their tents, searching for the lost, the so- 
loved one, the idol of my boyhood's dreams; but, so far, all in 
vain! He flies like the vulture, (as he is called) from oasis to 
oasis, except, when like that fiercest bird, he stoops to pounce 
upon his prey. I shall not lose sight of him, unless — Ah! who 
knows, but I may find here, the angelic being of my dreams, who 
for years past, in the watches of the night, seemed stretching to 
me her lovely arms, imploring me to come to her assistance. 
Inleed, I feel a presentiment, that my long search draws to a 
close; this oasis, seems to me a fitting abode for one so fair, 
rather than the wiLl Arab robbers. When it is snlficiently dark, 
I will approach their tents, the position of which I have ascer- 
tained. May kind Heaven continue to favor me! My matchless 
Arab steed, for which I paid so fabulous a price, and the excel- 
lent field-glass, has enabled me, so far, to keep at a long dis- 
tance upon the trail of the Vulture of the Desert, unseen by him, 
and tw^o hours ago, keeping in view the dust raised by their 
Bwift, flying coursers, I followed Al Hassan and his wan-iors 
here, and, not I hope, as hitherto, in vain, for the very atmos- 
phere seems redolent with her sweet and beauteous presence. 
Last night, methought I beheld her again in my dreams. Tears 
seemed coursing from her lovely eyes, and she seemed to wring 
her lily-white hands, as one in dire distress, and then to stretch 



ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. * 29 

them imploringly towards me, and her Yoice of surpassing 
melody fell on my ear; and, then, methought, she cried, intones 
of anguish. Hasten CLirence; come quickly, or I perish! Come, 
Clarence, come! and I am here, but, where, oh, where, are you, 
my loved, my adored Rosalie? But night approaches; I shall 
soon be able to draw nigh the abode of the robbers, and if there, 
shall rescue you, or die in the attempt. 

Here the voice of Rosalie, as at a distance, is heard: Come, come, Clarence, 
come! 

Clarence {listening.) Ah! her voice is on the breeze, her spirit 
calls to me. 

As^ai 1 the voice: Come, come, Clarence, come! 

He goes in the direction of the voice ; as he is about to disappear, again 
the voice is heard: Oh, hasten, Clarence; come, come, oh, come! 

Clavence {as he disappeaxs) . I come, I come. {Exit.) 

Enter Zuleika, gazing around, 

Zuleika. Ah, where can she be? I thought I should certainly 
find here the Flower of the Desert. Ah, she is to become to- 
morrow eve my queen; I, Zuleika, must give place to her; did 
not my lord so say? ha, ha, ha; methinks, my lord, you will 
wait long the coming of your bride. The lovely Flower of the 
Desert may, perchance, wilt, wither, die, ere placed in your 
bosom; ha, ha, ha. Ah, Flower of the Desert, did I not tell you 
we should meet again? Did Zuleika not inform you that your 
heart's blood should repay her for the insults and humiliation 
you have caused her? But where can she be? I know this is 
her favorite place of resi-rt. I, I thirst for her blood; I, I hunger 
for my revenge. I will seek her in some of the adjacent groves; 
if I do not there discover her, I will return here. When we 
meet. Flower of the Desert, you will die; yes, yes, your doom is 
sealed. Ah, the bridegroom, whose arms will embrace you, is 
not my lord Al Hassan; no, no, no, but death — yes, death. 
{Exit.) 

Rosalie returns with a bridle in her hand. 

Eofialie. The shades of night approach, the time is close at 
hand for my flight. Oh, oh, kind Heaven, prosper me! departed 
spirits of my father, my mother, look down upon your unhappy 
child! {Here kneels a few moments in silence with clasped hands, 
and eyes raised to heaven. ) 

Enter Zuleika, She approaches, unperceived, Rosalie, whose back is to- 
wards her, draws her dagger as she stealthily approaches, then stops, and 
appears to listen; gizes around on every side, appears to see some O'^eap- 
proachi g in au opposite direction froin the oue she entered, gazes amoment 
intense'y, then, with a vindictive glance towards Kosa ie, flees back whence 
she came. Rosalie risiug from her kneeling position. (See note at the end 
of this Act.) 



30 BOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

• 

Rosalie. Oh, oh, Clarence! I go, I go, perhaps to my death. 
Ah, may we meet in Heaven. I called on you to come, to rescue 
me, and you heard me not; I called you Clarence, but you did 
not come. 

Clarence. Your Clarence is here; he heard you, loved Rosalie, 
and has come . 

Rosalie. Am I awake? That form, that voice, can it be real? 
Do not my senses deceive me? 

Clarence. 'Tis no deception, most beauteous and so loved one, 
I am here; have come, in obedience to your calls, to rescue you, 
or perish in the attempt {advancing with extended arms). Rosa^lie^ 
my Rosalie, {she throws herself into his arnts.) 

Rosalie. Clurence, my Clarence {they embrace). Oh, oh, dear 
Clarence, you have indeed come in good time. Al Hassan, the 
chieftain, announced to me, a few hours ago, his intention of 
making me his wife to-morrow eve, and, to preserve myself 
from so dread a fate, I had resolved to mount in less than half 
an hour his swifest steed, and fty out on the desert, perhaps to 
perish. 

Clarence. Ah, then, I have indeed come in good time. We 
will fly together, dearest. I will bear you safely to your dear 
father's and dear mother's arms, who have so long mourned for 
you as — 

Rosalie. Clarence, what say you, my father, my mother? 
Oh, oh, what mean you? They are dead; were slain before my 
eyes, when I was made a captive. 

Clarence. You are mistaken, they were wounded, but not 
slain, as you supposed ; and for more than two years have 
mourned your absence, not knowing if you were living, though 
your father has had several agents searching for you, and ex- 
pended large sums of money for that purpose, your mother's fee- 
ble health preventing him from joining in the search. 

Rosalie. Oh, bless you, Clarence, for your good tidings. Oh, 
shall I, indeed, see my dear father and mother alive ? — and 
Clarence, my brother ? 

Clarence. I grieve I have no words of comfort there. 

Rosalie. Oh, oh, my dear brother Herbert is dead—- died in 
my defense- -oh, oh. 

Clarence. Grieve not, dearest ; recollect Heaven's mercy in 
preserving your dear parents, and — 

Rosalie. Oh, yes, Clarence, dear ; and in sending you to res- 
cue me, and carry me to them. Oh, no, I must not murmur, 
but thank Heaven for its mercies. 

Clarence. That is right, love — but who is that fair Circassian 
that approaches — will she betray us, think you ; if so, shall 
have to be so ungallant as to bind and gag her — what say you ? 

Enter Zuleika, who appears greatly siirprfsed at sight of Clarence Gordon. 

Rosalie. Oh! Oh! Clarence, I know not; she is mv enemy; I, 
I cannot tell; Oh! Oh! 



ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 31 

ZuJeika. Flower of the Desert, who is that handsome Frank 
by your side; how came he here, and why? 

Rosalie, {advancing to her.) Oh! Oh! Ziileika, do not betray us. 

Zuleika. Not if you trust me fully; tell me who he is, and why 
he is here? 

Rosalie. I will, Zuleika; he is my girlhood's lover; my father 
and mother are alive, and he has come to take me to them; Oh! 
Oh! Zuleika, you will not betray us? 

Zuleika. What say you, he your lover, and will carry you 
away. No, no. Flower of the Desert, I will not betray you. I 
came her in search of you to slay you, because I regarded you as 
my rival, but if you can escape, do so; 'tis as well, ah, yes, bet- 
ter, and I will assist you. You shall not regret placing con- 
fidence in Zuleika. 

Rosalie. Oh, thank you, bless you! 

Zuleika. No thanks, Flower of the Desert, since 'tis for my 
own sake and noi yours, that I assist j'ou; but how dare ven- 
ture here, that youthful Frank? he came, you say, to rescue you. 
Where are his followers concealed? The young chieftain must 
have a large force at hand, to have ventured near the Vulture's 
nest. 

Clarence. I am here alone. 

Zuleika. Alone, brave Frank? have come alone to the Vul- 
ture's nest, the Lion's lair, are you mad? 

Clarence {smiling). I think not. lovely Circassian; had you 
not arrived as you did, I should now have been flying on my 
steed across the desert, with the lovely being in my arms I came 
to rescue. 

Zuleika. You are very brave, young chieftain; but if you 
would escape, your steed must not bear a double burden; he will 
need all his strength and fleetness to carry you beyond the reach 
of Al Hassan, the Valture of the Desert, who, with his warriors, 
will Koon be in swift pursuit, so I will go now and procure for you 
Saladin, Al Hassan's favorite and swiftest-footed steed. 

Enter upon the scene a chieftain, II Hauboul, next in rank to Al HasEan and 
two Arab warriors. 

11 Hauboul. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha; Zuleika, the bow-string 
will be the recompense of your treachery. Flower of the Desert, 
who is that dog of a Frank by your side? Is he here to feast 
with his blood the Vulture of the Desert? ha, ha, ha. 

Rosalie. Oh, oh, merciful Heaven, we are lost! oh, oh! 

Clarence. Be not alarmed, dear Eosalie, bat trust in Heaven's 
assistance. Arab, you inquire why I am here? I will tell you. 
I came to rescue the lovely maiden that your villainous chieftain, 
Al Hassan, and his cut-throat followers stole from her parents, 
over two years ago, after leaving them as dead. Draw and de- 
fend yourself, brutish ruffian (aside, drawing his sword). I dare 



32 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. • 

not use my revolver, lest I give the alarm., so must depend upon 
my good blade. 

II Hauboul. Ha, ha, ha, are you mad, boy, to draw your sword 
upon the warrior II Hauboul? Put it up, boy, and come with me. 
The Vulture of the Desert would like a word with yoa ere he 
dips his beak in your heart's blood; come with me, vile dog. 

Clarence. Proud boaster and robber, best take me captive ere 
you take me to your chief. 

II Hauboul. Fool, madman, dog, (to Jiis followers :) Warriors, 
stand back until I disarm him, then bind and take him to Al 
Hassan, 

Clarence (advancing). Come on, villain. 

After a short, but fierce contest, II Hauboul is slain. His two warriors rush 
upon Clarence, he defends himself retreating. 

Zuleika, drawing her dagger, rushes forward and plunges it into the heart 
of one of them. 

Zuleika. They both must perish, or I am lost. 
Rosalie seems at first paralyzed with terror . 

Rosalie. Oh, oh, if I had a weapon. 

Then catches up the sword of the fallen chieftain , Before she can render 
her lover any assistance, he slays his remaining opponent. She drops the 
sword, and throws herself iutothe arms of Clarence. Zuleika stands near 
side of scene, near the b ick of stage. 

Enter Salima, who, seiug only Zuleika, says to her: 

Sdlirna. Oh, Zuleika, what have you done? See that blood 
upon your hands. Have you killed her? have you slain the 
Flower of the Desert? Oh, oh, murderess, you will sufier for — 

Zuleika. Why inquire of me concerning the Flower of the 
Desert; do you not see her standing there? 

Salima [greatly amazed). Why, what means this? Who is that 
brave-looking Frank, and, and, what means lying here slain 
three of Al Hassan's warriors? Did that young Frank chieftain 
slay them? 

Zuleika walks back and forth with her, apparently explaining in low tones 
what has occiured, 

Rosalie. Oh, oh, dear, brave Clarence, let us fly; let us fly at 
once, whilst we have time. 

Clarence. Yes, sweetest and dearest Rosalie, but who is that 
lovely being conversing with her you called Zuleika, can she be 
trusted? 

Bosalie. Oh, yes, she is my friend; she will not betray us, but 
do not delay, dear Clarence; Oh, oh, let us not delay, dear Clar- 
ence, 

Clarence. No, no, my precious one. 

Here approaches Zuleika and Salima. 



ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 33 

Salima. Oh, sweet Flower of the Desert, I am so happy that 
you are going to escape from your troublbs, but there is no time 
to lose. 

Clarence. Thank you, fair Georgian, as also your lovely and 
brave companion, who by her courage, has rendered us great 
assistance. 

Salima. You are very brave, young chieftain, and deserve for 
mate the flower of the desert. 

Clarence. Thanks, and as you say delay is dangerous, we will 
depart; my steed stands concealed in that direction, (extending 
his hand.) 

Zulieka. 'Tis on the way to where is picketed Al Hassan's 
favorite steed; we will attend you there; see that you mount and 
away. We will then return to the house, to allay suspicion, and 
retard pursuit. Oh. but ride as though fleeing from the sirocco, 
for such will be the pursuit of the vulture of the desert. 

Here the foot lights are turned down, the stage is darkened to resemble 
night. 

Clarence. Yes, fair ladies, but I must first drag into a thicket 
these dead warriors, otherwise their early discovery might lead 
to immediate pursuit. 

He, assisted byZuelika and Sa'ima, dr.Tg off the scene the fallen Arabs. 

At their departure, the sliding scene is drawn back, showing the residence 
of the Bedouin chieftain, and the tents of his followers, numbers of A rabs are 
lying around, some smoking Turkish pipes, some standing or a\ alking about, 
camp fires ars vi.^ible — near the house in front are suspended colored lan- 
terns that light the scene, Al Hassan's wives come from the house — the 
Bedouin Chief makes his appearance. se:its himself upon a divan, Turkish 
or Oriental fashion, he calls for his < hibougue, which is placed before 
him lighted by a page, and the stem placed in his hand, the bowl of enor- 
mous size and fanciful work; he call-* for music; several Arabs perform 
on iusti'uments; after a little appear coming from the front of the house, 
they having entered at the back, Zuleika and Salima. They advance and 
make obesiance. 

Al Hassan. Zuleika, why does not appear the beauteous Flower 
of the Desert? 

Znleika. I know not, my lord, shall I summon her to your 
august presence? 

Al Hassan. Do so, fair Zuleika, say to the sweet Flower of the 
Desert, that we await her lovely presence. 

Zuleika. Yes, my Lord {exit — returns). My Lord, the Flower 
of the Desert sends greeting to your highness, and hopes her 
lord will graciously excuse her attendance this evening, as the 
sudden announcement of the high destiny which awaits her on 
the morrow has so overcome her, that she has retired early. 

Al Hassan. Say to the sweet Flower of the Desert, that with re- 
gret, we excuse her beauteous presence this evening, and her 
lord will dream of the bliss that awaits him on the morrow. 

Salima. Yes, my lord. (Exit — rt-turns.) The Flower of the 
Desert sends greetings, and thanks her lord for his clemency 
and kind consideration, and awaits, with impatience, the dawn 



34 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

• 
that is to introduce her to the happy exaltation of your highness' 
bride, 

Al Hassan. Ah! The Flower of the Desert is as charming as 
she is beautiful. Since we must forego, for this evening, her 
lovely presence, we will have the dance to help spend the hours 
that lie between the happy awakening at to-morrow's dawn. But 
first I will state, lovely Zuleika, I mark with pleasure and appro- 
val the change in your demeanor towards your future queen, 

Zuleika. I am most happy to hear you say so, my gracious 
lord, and will endeavor to conduct myself in the future, towards 
the beauteous Flower of the Desert, our lovely queen, as to merit 
a continuance of your highness' approbation. 

Al Hassan. 'Tis well; 'tis very well said, my lovely Zuleika, 
my dark-eyed gazelle. You and Salima, Lada and Yemana, will 
favor us with a dance, after which you may sing for us, and 
then take a seat by my side. 

Zuleika. Thanks, most gracious lord. 

Music by orchestra. They dance, then she sings: 

ARAB SONG.— 3/oore. 

Fly to the desert, fly with me, 

Our Arab tents are rude for thee. 

But, oh! the choice, what heart can doubt, 

Of tents with love, or thrones without V 

Our rocli's are rough, but smiling there, 
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair. 
Lovely and sweet, nor loved the less 
For flowering in a wilderness. 

Our sands are bare, but down their slope 
The silvery-footed antelope. 
As gracefully and gaily springs, 
As o'er the marble courts of kings. 

Then come— thy Arab maid will be 
The loved and lone acacia tree ; 
The antelope, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 

At the conclusion of the song Zuleika takes a seat on the divan by the side 
of her lord. Arabs sing in chorus, a wild air, during which the curtain falls. 



Note. — At the short pantomime, when Rosalie kneels in silent 
prayer, her eyes and clasped hands raised imploringly to Heaven, 
there apj^ears her guardian angel, just as Zuleika, with drawn 
dagger has arrived within four or five paces of the kneeling girl. 
With quick gliding step, the angel guardian advances to the side 
of Rosalie, face towards Zuleika, with the right arm raised jDoint- 
ingto Heaven, then raises the left hand, points in the direction from 
whence is to come Clarence; then drojDS the left, and raising the 
right, waves her away. When the angel points with the left 
hand in the direction of Clarence, Zuleika stops, and appears to 



EOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 35 

listen, then looks round, and finally fixes her gaze in the direc- 
tion the angel has pointed. When the angel waves her away, 
Zuleika flees, as though affrighted by some person's approach, 
from the direction she was gazing. The angel then turns smiling 
to the kneeling Kosalie, and leaning partly over her, gazes in 
her face, raises one arm, and again points to heaven; then stoop- 
ing, places both arms around the kneeliDg girl absorbed in prayer, 
then rising from the stooping position, jDoints again with one 
hand to heaven, then glides swiftly towards side scene, beckons 
with one hand for some one to come, and with the other points 
to Kosalie, who is now standing, giving utterance to despairing 
words; as the last word leaves her lipr, and she covers with her 
hands her weeping eyes, the angel is again by her side, places 
around her both arms, than with one hand points to Clarence as 
he appears in view; then, as Rosalie speaks, the angel, passing 
between her and Clarence, with one hand raised pointing to 
Heaven, disappears. It is understood that the guardian angel is 
visible to the audience, but not to any one on the stage. Zuleika 
beholds Rosalie alone, Clarence, though beckoned to approach 
by the angel, sees only Rosalie, and Rosalie sees not the angel, 
nor feels the arms clasped around her; but, whilst kneeling in 
prayer, gazes intently towards Heaven, and, when with face 
buried in her hands sobs out her last despairing words, seems 
unconscious of the angel's presence, and the embracing arms, or 
pointing hands, and but looks at Clarence, when she hears his 
voice. 

I have shown the guardian angel only in the pantomime and at 
the close of play; but, if thought desirable, the angel could 
appear at other times; as, when the three warriors surprised the 
lovers, at this time, the guardian angels of both might appear. 
The two angels might also appear just at the close of the last 
act, and become visible to the performers just as the curtain falls. 
These might be introduced as novelties towards close of run of 
play. When Clarence appears at the oasis, he is habited in some 
rich, picturesque Eastern costume, an Oriental cap, etc. When 
they appear at her home, they will be in European costume. 



'<^«'0<- 



36 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 



ACT FIFTH. 

Place, Oasis of the Desert. Time, Early morning. Scene, 
Habitation of the Chieftain, Arab Tents, etc. 

Arabs appear in front of, coming from their tents ; they yawn, stretch 
their arms, walk about ; some group together and appear to converse. All of 
this is in the back ground. Coming from the house, is the chieftain, Al Has- 
san; he is received by the Arabs with low salaams. Presently, comes from 
the house, one of his wives; she, bowing before him, says : 

My lord is early abroad? 

Al Hassan, walking to the front, yet replying to her, and addressing the 
Arabs present: 

Al Hassan. Is this a time for reposing; is not this my wed- 
ding day? Does not the beauteous Flower of the Desert, this 
day become my bride? Let all be stirring, and make preparation 
for the festival, the wedding day of your lord and chieftain. Let 
heralds be sent at once to the adjacent oases of the desert, to 
summon to the festival my subjects. Prepare for this most 
happy event, a banquet worthy of the occasion of my high dignity, 
and of her, your beauteous queen, who is to grace with her pre- 
sence the banquet. Let the young maidens search throughout 
the oasis for tne brightest flowers and moht fragrant blossoms of 
which to form wreaths and arches, under which my beauteous 
queen is to pass and to repose. Disperse to fultill my com- 
mands. And thou, sun send down this day thy softest beams 
upon the sweet Flower of the Desert, lest thou shouldst cause to 
droop her beauteous head. Winds blow gently; let none but 
softest and most balmy zephyrs stir the golden tresses of my 
beautiful bride. Songsters of the grove, trill this day your 
sweetest roundelay in greeting of my bride, my queen ; let all 
Nature be robed in bright smiles, on this, so auspicious a day. 
Oh, my beauteous, my chosen one, when wilt tiiou appear? 
Hast though not as yet awakened? Doth slumber still, sweet 
Flower of the Desert? Awake, come forth; let mine eyes feast 
upon your ravishing charms ; let me behold those beautiful eyes, 
whose splendor dim at night the stars; your fair face, that causes 
the liiy to droop its head in shame, and the rose drop its petals 
in envy of your sweet lips and carnation cheeks — 

Here he is interrupted by the rapid approach of an Arab, (several Arabg 
stand at a little distance from himj, the new comer prostrates himself be- 
fore him. 

Oh, my lord, your highness' favorite steed, Saladin, is stolen! 
Al Hassan. What say you, miserable wretch and slave; dare 



ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 37 

3'ou approach, me with ill tidings on this, my wedding day — what, 
my steed, 8aladin, lost? Haroun, remove from sight this vile 
slave, who has the audacity to enter our august presence this 
day with unpleasant tidings ; away with the wretch, and bow- 
string him immediately. 

The Arab. May my lord's good pleasure be accomplished; but 
my lord, pardon your slave for suggesting to your sublimity, 
that had I not acquainted your highness with your loss, measures 
could not have been taken to recover your highness' valued steed. 

Al Hassan. Ah, very true, Haronn, remove and confine him. 
Should I recover my steed Saladin, you may administer fifty 
strokes of the bastinado, and let him go; otherwise you will bow- 
string him. 

Arab. Thanks for your clemency, my lord. 

Is led away by Haroun, who soon retiirns. The chieftain walking back 
and forth. 

Al Hassan. Ahmed, take a dozen wariors, and start in pursuit 
of the vile dogs that have stolen my favorite steed. When you 
overtake them, bring me their heads. 

The Arab departs. Enter in haste another Arab who prostrates himself be- 
fore his chieftain. 

Arab. Oh, my lord, I have discovered in a glade, half a mile 
distant from here, three of your bravest warriors slain; one of 
them the chief II Hauboul. 

Al Hassan. Enough, enough, vile, audacious slave. Haroun, 
away with the base wretch; bow-string him; don't let him live a 
moment. 

Arab. 'Tis fate; who can resist the will of Allah? {He is led 
away. ) 

Haroun. Your highness' commands have been executed. 

Al Hassan. 'Tis well. Ah, to think that these vile dogs, these 
miserable slaves, should have dared to enter our august presence 
with unpleasant tidings, on this, the wedding day of their lord; 
ah, was ever such presumption known; but we will not think of 
it more, lest we should lose the patience and serenity of mind be- 
coming our wedding day. Send men, Haroun, to inquire into 
what has been related, and let them report to me on the morrow. 
By the sword of Solomon, woe to all who approach me this day 
with ought but pleasant tidings. 

Haroun, in obedience to the chieftain's commands, disappears; soon re- 
turns. When comes running from the house an Arab maiden, tearing her 
hair, and prostrating herself before her lord, crying: 

Maiden. Oh, oh, my lord! Oh, oh, my lord! The Flower of 
the Desert is missing, is gone, and cannot be found. 
Al Hassan. What, what say you ? base, miserable slave, 
3 



38 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

aiidacions wretch, the Flower of the Desert goue, anS. you, you 
vile slave, dare inform me of her flight? Haroun, Harouu, the 
sack, the sack — but administer first one hundred strokes of the 
bastinado, and, and then pluck out by the root her miserable 
tongue that has dared give utterance to such wretched tidings; 
and, and then take her from tjie pond, and cast her out upon the 
desert, that the buzzards may pluck out her eyes, and the hyenas 
devour her. Away, away, with her at once from sight, and ex- 
ecute quickly my commands. ( To another warrior he says :) 
Habib, let the trumpets be sounded to assemble my warriors, to 
go in search of the Flower of the Desert, who, when found, shall 
be made an example to all maidens, who scorn the love of Al 
Hassan, the Vulture of the Desert — (aside) bufc I should like to 
know what Zuleika has to say in regard to the disappearance of 
the Flower of the Desert? She may perhaps be able to throw 
some light upon the subject? I will summoir her to appear, and 
will question her {to a young girl). Fetnah, go and summon here 
Zuleika. {Exit.) Enters presently Zuleika, bows low before Al 
Bassan. 

Zuleika. What desires of me, my august lord? 
Al Hassan. I desire to know, Zulieka, concerning the disap- 
pearance of the Flower of the Desert; what know you of it, Zu- 
Heka? 

Zuleika. Nothing, my lord, I have seen nothing of her since 
your highness honored me with your message to her last even- 
ing. 

Al Hassan. When did you first hear of her disappearance? 
Zuleika. One hour ago, my lord. 

Al Hassan. One hour ago, Zuleika, and why did you not 
sooner acquaint me with what has occurred? 

Zuleika. Because, my lord, I thought it would not please your 
sublime highness to hear unpleasant news; surely, your sub- 
limity could Jiot expect that his favored Zuleika should imitate 
the base slaves who have met with so deserved a fate for their 
want of consideration for their lord's peace of mind. 

Al Hassan. Well said, very well said, Zuleika; but what think 
you has become of the Flower of the Desert. 

Zuleika My august lord will not, I hope, be offended with his 
Zuleika, if, in comj^liance with your highness' commands, she 
ventures in all humility, to offer her opinion. 

Al Hassan. Very properly spoken, Zuleika, very well said; 
no, my fair Zuleika, you may express freely your opinion; what 
think you, Zuleika? 

Zuleika. Methinks, most gracious lord, whose beard drops 
wisdom, that the Flower of the Desert was so overcome at the 
thoughts of the high dignity and surpassing bliss awaiting her 
the ensuing day, that, suffering from a sudden aberration of mind 
she arose in the night and roamed forth into the surrounding 
groves or thickets, and may, jDerhaps, overcome with fatigue, 
be Ij'ing asleep in some of the thickets of the oasis. 



ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 39 

Al Hassan. Quite possible; strange I did not think of it; by 
my beard, very probable indeed; Allah, Allah, what wisdom in 
a woman! 

Zuleika. Thanks, my lord, and would my august lord pardon, 
if his Zulieka should venture to offer a suggestion? 

Al Hassaji. We pardon you, Ziileika, you may speak. 

Zuleika. May I suggest to your wisdom, that it might be well 
for your sublime highness, to have his warriors, that I see as- 
sembling in compliance with your august commands, form in 
long extended lines, and in this manner proceed back and forth 
across the oasis of the desert, so that should my humbly sub- 
mitted opinion prove correct, the Flower of the Desert must cer- 
tainly be found, 

Al Hassan, (aside). "Wonderful, wonderful, and she a woman. 
Ah, Zuleika, I shall reward you with rich presents, for this valu- 
able suggestion. 

Zuleika. Thanks, most gracious lord, but the good opinion 
and affection of her lord, is all the reward that Zuleika covets; 
but might his so honored Zuleika i)resume to make to her so 
gracious lord, another suggestion. 

Al Hassan. You may, Zuleika, suggest to the consideration of 
our wisdom^ speak freel3\ 

Zuhika. Thanks, my most revered and gracious lord, but 
might it not be well, in case the SM^eet Flower of the Desert 
should not be discovered upon the oasis, to have your warriors 
mount their steeds, form in line, and, at some distance apart, to 
go out to the edge of the desert, and then ride around the oasis, 
each time enlarging the circle, lest the Flower of the Desert 
might, whilst suffering from her aberration of mind, have wan- 
dered forth on the desert ; and, if not soon discovered, ma}^ be 
devoured by some lion, that may perchance come across her. 

Al Hassan. Allah, Allah, what wisdom from the lips of a 
woman ; wonderful, wonderful, fair Zuleika. In reward for your 
invaluable suggestions, you shall, when I have recovered the 
Flower of the Desert; when she is seated on my right side, you 
shall occupy the seat to my left, and you shall have the privilege 
of waiting upon your beauteovis queen, and I shall present you 
with costly robes and rich gems, and yoii shall be second to none 
in the harem, save your lovely queen, the sweet Flower of the 
Desert. 

Zuleika. Oh, oh, most gracious lord, you overwhelm your 
Zuleika with the greatness of your favors and bounty; but, oh, 
oh, my lord; oh, oh, my lord, suppose, suppose, that a, a lion of 
the desert should come across, and, and devour the sweet Flower 
of the Desert; oh, oh; so, would it not be well, my lord, to com- 
mence the search? Pardon the suggestion, my gracious lord. 

Al Hassan. Well said, well suggested, my lovely Zuleika. 
We will commence at once the search. Farewell, my sweet 
Zuleika! 



40 EOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

Zuleika. Farewell, my most august lord! May success attend 
your efforts! but, oh, oh, should a lion have devoured her; oh, 
oh! 

Al Hassan. Then will I cause to be slain all the lions of the 
desert; but farewell, Zuleika! don't grieve for the sweet Flower 
of the Desert; thanks to your suggestions, I think we shall cer- 
tainly discover her. 

Zuleika. Yes, yes, my lord, I Lope so, my lord; but, oh, oh, 
the lions, the lions; or, or, the hyenas, oh, oh! 

Al Hassan summons his -warriors, commands them to march in exteiided 
lines, back and forth across the oasis ; and, if the Flower of the Desei-t is 
not discovered, to return for their steeds, and proceed to the desert, and 
ride in circles around the oasis. All the wifes of the chieftain, and the 
wives aid children ot the Arabs are seen, as the Arabs commence to form in 
line. The curtain falls. 



•©♦♦O-^ 

ACT SIXTH. ^ 

Pl.^ce, Baltimore City. Scene, A Lady's Boudoir. 

Present, Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland. Mrs. Sutherland seated in a large, 
easy chair; Mr. Sutherland standing, or walking the room. 

3Irs. Sutherland. Dear Arthur, it is now more than two months 
since we have received a letter from Clarence; oh,, oh, I do> feel 
eo miserable. Just to think, the dear boy may now be dead; 
may have fallen into the hands of that terrible Bedouin chief- 
tain, the Viilture of the Desert, and so paid with his life, for his 
devotion to our dear daughter. Oh, oh, why did we let him go, 
on this so rash adventure; and to think, that I should have suf- 
fered m J self to be deluded into the belief of his finding and res- 
cuing our sweet daughter; and — and when she is in all proba- 
bility long since dead, and now, perhaps, our dear boy, Clarence, 
is also dead. Oh, oh, my dear, dear husband, how wretched I do 
feel; oh, oh — f weeps.) 

Mr. Sutherland. {Going to her and taking her hand.) Alice, 
dear wife, do not despond, remember, the darkest hour is just 
before the dawn of day ; Clarence may, at this very moment, be 
with our dear daughter. Of course, after he entered the wilds 
of the desert and commenced his search of the oases of the des- 
ert, he would have no means of sending letters, so it is not at 
all surprising that we do not hear from him; so, sweet wife, do 
not grieve, but trust in Heaven's mercies, I feel a presentiment 
of Clarence's success. His gallant bearing and dauntless glance, 
ftt his departure, upon this mission, assured me that no danger 
would appall, no obstacle retard him, but, that under kind 



BOSALIE SUTHERLAND. 41 

Heayen's protection and guidance, he will, indeed, find and 
rescue our loved daughter. 

3Irs. Sutherland. Oh, oh, dear husband, how assuring, how 
comforting are your words; but — but it is not want of courage, 
or endeavors, that I fear in Clarence, but rather his reckless dar- 
ing; — to think of the dear, brave boy alone, upon those desert 
wastes, encompassed on every side by foes, by dangers ; none near 
to assist, none to counsel him — my dear boy. Oh, oh, dear 
Arthur, how can I but feel anxious regarding him ? But — but 
when, is expected the next steamer, when will arrive the for- 
eign mail? perhaps it may bring some letter, some lines, to 
assure us of his safety. 

Mr. Sutherland. I do not know, dear Alice ; the papers 'v^ill 
inform us, when the next steamer is expected, I will ring, and 
see if the papers have come, {sounds the bell.) You know that 
Clarence's last letter, informed us, that he had arrived near the 
desert, and had procured the fleetest Arabian steed in the coun- 
try, and would soon be on the desert, searching among the 
oases, and that we must not expect to hear from him for several 
months, till, as the brave boy wrote, he had recovered our dear 
Kosalie; so dear Alice — {enter servant lolth marning papers.) 

Mr. Sutherland. Ah, I see, James, you have the morning 
papers {servant pi'esenting them)! 

Servant. Anything else, sir? 

3Ir. Sutherland. Nothing more, James {exit James). 

Opens and looks over ttie paper. 

Mr. Sutherland. Ah, here is the arrival of steamers. Why, 
dear wife, a steamer is expected on the sixth; let us see, to-daj 
is the fifth — no, no, to-day is the sixth. She may even now have 
arrived; so, we may receive a letter from Clarence, though I do 
not much expect one so soon. 

31rs. Sxdherland. Oh, oh; yes, yes, Arthur. We may {enter 
servard with letter on salver) — oh, ah, there is the letter. Give it 
me, James. I am sure it is from Clarence. Oh, oh, Arthur, 'tis 
from him. Oh, oh, read it to me; I tremble so, am so excited, 
I cannot read. Take, read it, dear Arthur; oh, oh, I am so glad 
to know the dear boy is alive. Oh, read, read. See it he has 
heard aught of our dear daughter; read, read. 

Mr. Sutlaerland breaks envelope, and reads: 

Mr. Sutherland. Dear father, dear mother, all right. Rosalie 
and I will start immediately for — 

Mrs. Sutherlard. Oh, oh, merciful Heavens! my daughter, oh, 
oh, my daughter; my daughter alive and coming; oh, oh, Arthur, 
my husband; oh, oh. 

Appears fainting, her husband hastens to, and places bis arm around her. 



42 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

3Ir. Sutherland. Mj dear, dear wife, my dear Alice, do not 
faint; be not overcome with this great joy. Heaven support you 
in this blissful moment, and — 

Mrs. Suthei-land. Yes, yes; oh, yes, dear Arthur; but, but, my 
daughter; oh, oh, my daughter; and, oh, oh, Clarence. A 
mother's blessing on your head, mj^ brave, devoted boy. Oh, oh, 
how, how, can I sustain this joy; this excess of happiness. Oh, 
oh, merciful Heaven, receive my thanks, and give me strength 
to bear this exceeding great happiness. Oh, oh, Arthur, to think 
our sweet daughter Eosalie may arrive by the \evy next steamer. 
Oh, look, look, Arthur, in the pajDer; see when the next steamer 
is to arrive. Oh, look, look, 

Mr. iSufherland. Yes, dearest {takes the paper reads a moment, 
then stagr/ers to his feet). Oh, gracious Heaven; oh, heavenly 
Father, receive our thanks, strengthen us to bear this (then stops, 
says, aside). How break it to her? How let her know that 
Bosalie and Clarence's names are on the passenger list of this 
steamer, as telegraphed, and may presently be here. Oh, oh, 
how, how inform — 

Mrs. Sutherland gazes for a moment at her husband, as astonished, then 
arises, goes to him and says: 

Jfrs. Sidherland. Why, dear, dear husband, what ails you? 
Has this joyful news also overcome you, dear? If so, sit down 
and let me look, and see when the next steamer— 

Mr. Sutherland. No, no, no, dear wife, don't mind the papers; 
I can tell you; it will be due in eight days. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Oh, oh, and in eight days I shall behold my 
daughter. Oh, oh, Arthur; oh, oh. {Enter servant.) 

Servant. Mr. Sutherland, a gentleman wishes to see you for a 
moment on business. 

3fr. Sidherland. Yes, yes, James, I will see him immediately.^ 
Excuse me, dear wife, I will soon — 

Jfrs. Sutherland. Why, Arthur, what is the matter with you? 
Why turn away your head? Why tremble so, my husband? {goes 
to him, throws her arms around his neck), and James, too, how 
strange he looks. Why, what is — but, but, Oh, gracious Heaven! 
James, James, tell me the name of that gentleman; speak! 

James {looking embarrassed). He said I was not to mention 
his name, only to say — 

Mrs. Sidherland, {bowing her head upon her husband's shoulder). 
Oh, Lord! Oh, my God! 'tis he, 'tis he! 'tis Clarence! {then 
shrieks wildly) mj childl my child! Oh, Clarence — my daughter; 
Oh, my daughter; don't, don't hold me, Arthur; let me go to 
her; my mother's heart tells me she is here; my daughter, Oh, 
my daughter! 

The daughter rushes in, throws herself into her arms. 

Rosalie. My mother. Oh, my mother! Father, dear father. 



ROSALIE SUTHEELAND. 43 

She is clasped in her mother's arms. 

Mrs. Sutherland. My child, my child. 

Rosalie. Oh, dear mother, and how changed; Oh, how you 
must have suffered, dear mamma; your hair has become as white 
as snow. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Suffered— loved child; Ah, heaven only 
knows how I have suffered; and your dear father, too, but speak 
not of it, dear child, 'tis all past now; the present moment of 
joy repaj's the years of anguish and despair, and you, too, loved 
child, have suffered much; but, kind heaven has turned all our 
sorrows into happiness; Oh, such exceeding great happiness, 
dear daughter. 

Rosalie. Yes, yes, loved mother, the present joy repays all. 
Mr. Sutherland receives her from the arms of his wife. 

Mr. Sutherland. Loved daughter, dear child, the lost and 
found; Oh, llosalie, my child! 

Rosalie. Oh, Oh, dear father! Oh, Oh, I am so happy now, 
dear papa. 

Enter Clarence. 

Clarence. How do you do, father, how do you do, dear mother. 
Why what in the world are you all crying about? I thought you 
would all be so happy when I brought home my Rosalie, and 
here you are all weeping. 

Mrs. Sutherland hastens to, and embraces him. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Oh, my dear boy; my dear son, Clarence, 
bless you, Ah, bless you, my son. 

Clarence. Thank you, dear mother, but don't cry. 

Mr. Sutherland releases his daughter, who is received again in the arms 
of his wife, steps forward and embraces Clarence. 

Mr. S'utherland. My dear, brave boy, my son, my son. 

Clarence. Thank you, father, but I thought you were going to 
call me a man when I brought home your daughter, and yet you 
both call me boy. 

Mrs. Sutherland releases her daughter, whose hand is taken by her father. 
She advances and takes by the hand Clarence. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Oh, you dear, brave Clarence, you are in- 
deed a man; to think you should have rescued our loved Rosalie, 
when all others failed. 

Clarence advances, and placing his arm around Rosalie, replies: 

Clarence. Rescue her; why, did I not tell you I should bring 
home my Rosalie? Say, did I not tell you, when you saw again 
your son, you would likewise behold your daughter? and here 
she is. 



44 ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Yes; oh, yes, you did, indeed, my dear, brave, 
noble-hearted boy. 

Rosalie, going to her parents, taking a hand of each. 

Rosalie. Oh, yes, dear mother, dear father, so, so brave. 
Ah, had you but seen him, when just at the moment of our 
flight, three of the chieftain Al Hassan's most fiercest warriors 
surprised us, oh if — 

Clarence. Oh, don't speak of it, my sweet Kosalie, just as if, 
after coming all the way to Arabia to rescue you, I would let 
those black rascals prevent me from bringing you away? 

3Ir. Sutherland. Ah, my dauntless son; but tell us Clarence, 
my noble boy, how did you discover our darling? 

Clarence. As the needle to the pole, my heart pointed to her; 
my heart went before, I followed it, and so found my Eosalie. 

He steps towards and opens his arms to Rosalie; she, enfolded in his 
arms, says: 

My dear, dear Clarence, what do I not owe you, — my life? ah, 
yes, more than life. Oh, ho\rI do love you, dear, dear Clarence! 

Clarence. Love me; why yes, certainly darling; was not your 
voice upon the breeze, did not your spirit call to me? and I 
came, too, did I not, my precious? and I brought you away, too, 
did I not, my darling? 

Eosalie. Yes; oh, yes, you did, loved Clarence. Oh, oh, I 
am so, so happy, now, dear Clarence. 

Mr. Sutherland. Bless you dear daughter, and Clarence, your 
noble deliverer, to whom, under Heaven, we owe so, so much. 

Mrs. Sutherland. Yes, a thousand blessings on your head, my 
son. Oh, oh, bless — bless you, my children. 

Rosalie {gazing towards her parents. ) Dear mother, dear father. 

Clarence. Thank you, father, mother. 

Rosalie stands enfolded by the arms of Clarence. Mr. Sutherland and 
wife stands at a little distance gazing upon Rosalie and Clarence. 

Rosalie {looking in the eyes of Clarence.) Clarence, oh, Clar- 
ence ! 

Clarence {gazing fondly upon her.) Rosalie! my Rosalie! 

[Here appears the guardian angel of Rosalie, advances and embraces the 
uncons^cious girl, then gliding to a position in front, raises her hand and 
points to Heavfn, when, for the first time, the angel is visible to those on the 
stage; they fall into surprised attitudes. Curtain falls ] 

Whenever the angel appears, orchestra must play soft, gentle music. 



ROSALIE SUTHERLAND. 45 

Note.— To change the play from six acts to five, it might be 
preferable, instead of dropping the curtain at the end of the 
fourth, to let the slides be drawn together— that conceals the 
chieftain's dwelling, Arab tents, etc. As soon as the suspended 
lanterns that represent night can be removed, open again the 
slides, and turn up the foot-hghts, to represent morning. Or- 
chestra can play, and, if desired, a few Arab girls might dance to 
the music for the few minutes intervening between the closing 
and withdrawing of slides. 

In the first act, the Turkish attendants will be distinguished 
by not so dark complexion, and difference of costume, and tur- 
bans on their heads, in place of the cap, like the Arabs. The 
Arabian chieftain, Al Hassan, is a man in the prime of life; 
thirty-five or forty years of age; a fine appearing specimen of the 
Bedouin Arab; dark complexion, dark eyes and hair, and a long 
flowing black beard; his costume is a rich, picturesque. Eastern 
dress, with an ornamental cap upon his head. His wifes are 
Circassians, Georgians, Turkish and Arabians, ranging from 
nineteen to twenty-five years of age, and all lovelj'-, according to 
their different types. Zuleika, the most beautiful, Salima, next; 
but all surpassed by the Flower of the Desert, who is surpassingly 
beautiful. She alone has light, golden tresses, while the others 
have black or chestnut hair. Eosalie must never be seen to smile 
after her capture, until she appears again at her home, then only 
at the close of the act, when smiles struggle with tears of joy.. 
Whilst at the oasis, her ej^es wear a look of brooding sadness, 
sometimes of terror, sometimes express anguish and despair; 
her voice should be soft, and pathetic in tone. Clarence Gor- 
don's manner and speech will indicate a mingling of manhood 
and boyhood; impulsive, confident, and gallant in speech and 
manners, and perfectly persuaded that the mystic voice of Eosa- 
lie falls upon his ear, calling upon him to come and rescue her. 
I think there need be no difficulty in the Arab robbers appear- 
ing mounted, as they do not appear in the foreground. In the 
first act, Mr. Sutherland, family and attendants, together wit^ 
tents, should occupy the fore and middle ground of the stage; the 
mounted Bedouins will appear in the back ground. At the oasis, 
the Bedouin riders will make their appearance, or mount their 
steeds in the back ground, same as described for the first act. 
The Bedouin robbers in the attack, will face the audience; Mr. 
Sutherland, family and attendants, will have their backs to the 
audience. After the attendants, at word of command from the 
Bedouin chieftain, have thrown themselves down on their faces, 
the principal actors will be in full view. When the Arabs dis- 
mount to take captive Kosalie, she, by change of position, will 
appear at times with her assailants in side view. When the des- 
pairing girl rushes among the prostrate Arabs, appealing for help, 
she will be near the foot-lights. The tents should occupy space 
between the scenes, so as partly to be seen from side scenes, and 
leave ample space for the performers. 



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